Frost Collar
by Thisisentertaining
Summary: "An Easter egg?" "It's a calling card. I don't believe it. This guy's a-" "A forging legend?" "A myth." **Jack fell back as his mark gripped his arm, the man's wallet still in his grasp. He looked up to a fedora and bright blue eyes. **"Get to the point Baby Tooth." "The Big Four were talking about sending a mole to leak info about Pitch to the FBI... and I thought of you, Jack."
1. A Late Walk

Neal whistled lowly as he crouched over the painting. Whoever did this was good, really good. The brush strokes were perfect, shading was spot on. He could almost be convinced that it really was _The Railway_ by Edouard Manet that was sitting in front of him. That is, if he hadn't been Neal Cafferey. He stood up from his spot leaning over the table.

"It's good, but definitely a forgery."

The art's owner scoffed angrily. "Our appraiser already told us that, we want to know _who_ did it and when they swapped this one for the real one."

The CI shared a glance with Peter, letting the agent speak both of their doubts. "Maybe you should consider the possibility that it was never switched. It's not impossible that you bought-"

"We had it appraised after we bought it." The man interrupted snidely. "It was the original then."

"And when was that?" Peter asked.

The man scowled slightly before reluctantly answering. "About seven years ago."

Neal smirked. "So we have to find out when in the past seven years this painting had been forged and swapped, who did it, and how they did it. Sounds like fun."

"Neal." Peter said warningly, shooting the art thief a warning look. The conman simply raised his eyebrows and shrugged. The agent sighed before turning to the irate man who had brought the forgery in. "We'll get right on the case and contact you if we discover anything."

The man scowled. "I had a buyer lined up for this, what do you expect me to tell him?"

"I hear the truth is a wonderful thing." Neal answered, making Peter scoff. Jones smirked at the CI as well.

"Really Caffery?"

"Do as I say, not as I do." The man shrugged. Jones smiled and Peter simply rolled his eyes as he continued to escort the piece's owner out the door. As the men left Neal resumed his study of the painting.

"See anything?" Jones asked with a slight sigh.

"I don't know. It just seems weird. This is almost perfect, the shading, brushstokes, texture, but everything is just a shade or two off. The dress is too bright a blue, the woman's skin is too tan. You don't make a forgery this good and mess up in the coloring. Something's up. Whoever made this wanted it to be discovered."

"Why not make it more obvious? Especially if he wanted it to be discovered."

"To prove you could make a perfect copy if you wanted to. Come on, you gotta have a little flair."

Jones smirked. "Only you Cafferey. So, you really don't have any ideas?"

Neal leaned even closer to the canvas, eyes scouring the art as though looking for a hidden message within the strokes. Suddenly, his nose burned with a familiar scent and his eyes narrowed as he attempted to place it. Closing his eyes he inhaled the scent. It kind of reminded him of… "Easter eggs…" He mumbled to himself. "Vinegar!"

His eyes shot open as he straightened, a wild grin crossing his face. "No way." He breathed.

"What?" Jones asked, coming to lean over the canvas as well. "Did you find something?"

Neal whirled on the man. "Jones. I need you to see if any local children's organizations have gotten any sudden large donations." Without another word he left the room and stalked into the White Collar main office. "Does anyone smoke? I need a lighter."

An agent quickly handed him one and he disappeared back into the room, bumping into a fairly confused Jones as the man left for his computer to do the research. Neal wasted no time in laying out the painting, trailing the lighter's flame inches up from the upper left hand corner. Peter came in and watched the CI in silence until Neal gasped in victory.

There, in the corner the heat had revealed a picture of an oval, decorated with swirls and squiggly lines and dots. Peter scowled at the picture. "An Easter egg?"

Neal nodded, an amazed expression on his face. "It's a calling card. I don't believe it. This guy, he's- he's a-"

"A forging legend?"

"More like a myth. Any good forger's heard about him, but most people don't really think he exists. Part of this mystical team that sounds more like fiction than fact. They all have rap sheets a mile long, some of the most incredible cons in the last few decades. Almost anything that you haven't solved, they did."

"Really? Sounds a little too good to be true to me. You sure they're not just some kind of big scapegoat."

"If they were, you would have heard about them a long time ago."

Peter couldn't argue with that. "So do you know who the forger is or don't you?"

"Nobody knows his name. He's just known as his alias, closer to a codename really."

"Which is?"

Neal opened his mouth to answer, but before he could utter a word Jones returned. "I found it. There was no huge donation to any one place, but there were several well sized ones to a bunch of different organizations. All under the same anonymous… alias."

Peter sighed deeply through his nose. "And this mysterious alias is…?"

Jones sent a withering look at the conman. "Do I have to say it?"

Neal just smirked back smugly. "Oh, I think you should."

"The donations were all given by… The Easter Bunny."

* * *

Jack Frost grinned from the alleyway, leaning up against his crooked staff as he tested his foot against the ground. His smile strengthened when his ankle held firm. It'd been broken a couple of months ago and he'd never been able to let it heal properly. He'd done the best he could, making a paper Mache cast, resting when he could afford to, even setting it himself. However, it was hard to do much relaxing when you were on the run, and living on the streets of New York certainly wasn't prime restorative conditions. The injury had still taken forever to heal and it occasionally gave out on him from time to time. Carrying the shepherds crook around town as a makeshift cane had seemed awkward at first, but he'd gotten used to it pretty quickly. He'd had the stick forever after all, now he just had an excuse to use it.

The teen's stomach rumbled slightly as he leaned his staff against the dumpster that lay in the alley, cautiously testing his foot without it. He'd been healing long enough, it was time to get back in the game. He had to, after all. All of his emergency money was gone and he needed cash badly. Taking a deep breath the boy checked his watch: 7:50. Perfect. He grinned and hoisted his backpack higher up on his shoulders before suddenly sprinting out of the alleyway.

"Crap!" He yelled loudly as his running caught attention. "Mom's gonna kill me if she hears I was late again." Almost immediately he was dismissed; half because of the excuse, and half because everyone in this part of town ignored homeless little Jack Frost. Oh well, it made things easier for him, he didn't care if people ignored him. Not much.

He ricochets down the street, blurting out apologies as he bumped into people, discretely pulling wallets out of pockets and purses as he ran.

"Sorry sir! Late, not again." He mumbled to himself, bumping into a businessman with a nice suit and thick wallet. As he spun away from the scowling man, he genuinely tripped into an woman carrying groceries, sending food flying. He speedily picked up the food with a barrage of hurried apologies, managing to slip a box of Milano's into the pouch of his hoddie as he scurried away. He continued down the street, squeezing himself between a pair of men and reaching out with both hands to simultaneously grab both wallets, only to be jerked back with a yelp as one of the men gripped his arm.

He fell back with the change in inertia, almost falling against the man before he was able to regain his balance. As the teen stood he studied the men more closely, taking notice of his marks for the first time in a while. Colleagues probably, or friends. They certainly knew each other at least. Both were fairly tall but that was where the similarities ended. The one gripping him was slender, with dark hair and eyes so blue that they almost matched Jack's. He wore what looked like a high end suit and a fedora and was watching Frost with a look that was simultaneously stern and proud. His friend on the other hand was older, with a much more muscular build and average suit. He was watching the fedora-man with confusion.

"Neal, what-"

The other, Neal, didn't let the man speak, interrupting almost immediately to whisper in the teen's ear. "You can either slip our wallets back into my hand now, or I tell my friend here what you just did. He's in the FBI, and I can promise you that he won't be nearly as impressed with your little thieving act as I am."

Jack only stared in shock for a moment. He had been caught. He had actually been _caught_! He never got caught, he was invisible and as swift as the wind. At least, he used to be. Stupid foot. Still, this guy seemed a little smarter than the average bear, maybe he would be fun to play with. Jack grinned softly before whispering back. "I'm pretty impressive, aren't I?" He chuckled softly. "What do you think would happen if I yelled 'you're not my dad' really loudly? That's what they're telling the kids to say these days when strangers approach them."

Hat-man's eyebrows rose and he straightened, his voice returning to normal volume when he realized Jack wasn't going to hand over the wallets. "Then my friend here will start flashing his badge. I don't think you want this whole area to know what you've been up to, now do you?" His voice dropped once more. "Hey, I'm all for letting you keep the rest, that was solid work you did back there, but he won't be if you get him involved. He's a real goody-two-shoes-stickler-for-the-law type. Now, are you going to do it or are we going to have problems?"

Jack scowled for a moment. Really he wouldn't mind losing a couple of wallets- he doubted Neal's friend had much on him anyway- but if he gave it then the game would be over, and it had been so long since he'd had someone to play with. His scowl turned into a smirk. "Fine." He conceded, a little too loudly. "I'll give you what you want if you'll just let me go."

All around people stopped, and Neal's friend sighed as he reached into his pocket- probably to grab a badge- but as soon as they recognized the teen in the stranger's hold, interest was immediately lost and they were ignored once more. Jack couldn't help but scowl. Predictable really, no one ever paid attention to the vagabond prankster who was on the bad side of practically every gang in the area. The teen shrugged at the man still holding his arm in a vice grip. "Meh. It was worth a shot."

He reached into his hoodie's pouch to pull out the folded leather when Neal's friend suddenly interrupted. "Neal, what is going on? You have some kind of grade school spy network now?"

Jack scowled at the man- he was kind of short for fifteen but he knew he looked older than a grade-schooler. Neal just smiled winningly. "I'd prefer the name: Cafferey's Baker Street Irregulars."

The agent just stared at the two for a while, his eyes lingering at the tight grip Neal had to enforce just to get the teen to stay put. "I'm not buying it." With a double finger point he led the two to an alleyway out of the crowded sidewalk. Neal sighed but followed, dragging a reluctant Jack behind into the closed off backstreet. Trapped. This game just got a lot less fun.

Neal let go of the teens arm and Jack immediately put distance between himself and the two strangers. The men stood side by side, effectively blocking the entrance. The three remaining walls of the alleyway were all solid brick, any windows tightly closed and locked. A fire escape lay against one wall, but the ladder was up too far for him to grab. Jack felt a trill of fear but forced a smile upon his face as he turned, keeping tight reign of the emotions that showed. Control was the name of the game, after all.

He moved his hands around in his hoodie's pocket, attempting to find the correct wallets while keeping an eye on the two men still blocking his path. Neal was standing with a relaxed confidence, watching Jack carefully. His friend was stiff, alternating his stern scowl between Jack and his companion. Finally the teen gave up attempting to maneuver around the bag of cookies and pulled them out, stuffing the bag into the cup holder on the side of his backpack before rummaging for the wallets once more. Neal chuckled softly and nodded to the cookies.

"Next time, try grabbing an apple. The disappearing cookies were a little conspicuous."

Jack frowned slightly, finally feeling the right textures of leather amid the several in the pouch. He deftly slid the cash out of the billfolds as he answered. "She didn't notice a thing."

"No, but I did."

The teen paused for a moment, thinking, before giving a reluctant nod. So that was how the man had found him out. He pulled out one of the wallets, throwing the folded leather to the ground in front of the man. "Fine. That one's yours, and this one," He began, pulling out the friend's and opening it, "Is yours Mr. Peter Burke." He threw it down beside the other after getting a peek of the license.

Suddenly Jack paused, his mind running a million miles a second as he recognized the name. Dimly he heard Peter groan- "Oh great, a mini-Neal," before his breath caught in excitement.

"Wait a minute, Peter Burke and Neal… You're Neal Cafferey!" Jack laughed, delighted at meeting the renowned forger and thief. His eyes lit to the FBI agent standing beside the criminal, the man rolling his eyes as though frustrated by Neal's fame among thieves. "And you're _the_ Peter Burke, the one that caught him. Oh this is great, the mortal enemies turned FBI's best power couple." He laughed, leaning up against the dumpster in the back of the alley, much more relaxed now that he knew just who he was dealing with. Suddenly his eyes widened and he straightened, his voice going higher when he spoke, his tone reminiscent of a girl at the concert of the media's current boy toy. "Wait a minute, this means that I lifted Neal Caffery's wallet."

"You got caught lifting Neal Caffery's wallet." The conman quickly interjected. "Speaking of, I'd like my cash back too." Jack scowled and darted forward to shove a wad of his and Peter's cash into the man's hand before darting away again.

"Fine. I didn't really expect that to work anyway." He meandered back until he was near the dumpster again, deftly hopping to sit on it and desperately attempting to get off of his foot before it decided to do anything crazy. "What are you guys doing out here, anyway? Shouldn't you be checking Spanish bonds or looking for an old Bible or something?"

Both men stiffened and Peter growled at the boy. "How did you hear about those investigations?"

The teen shrugged. "In case you didn't notice out there, I'm invisible. I hear everything. Especially in this town, you want to know anything I'm your guy."

"You're an informant?" Peter asked, seeming incredulous, "A scrawny kid like you in a dangerous place like this?" He gestured to the surrounding dilapidated buildings, distinct but hidden gang signs surrounding them.

The teen shrugged. "Giving tips to the gangs pays good. They'd pay anything to get information on each other, and almost as much to keep some of their skeletons in their closets."  
Neal stepped towards him now, making Jack stand atop the dumpster. "That doesn't sound safe."

"Occupational hazard." Jack answered, before a smirk split his face. "Besides," He drawled, moving to the back of the dumpster. "Like I said I'm invisible." He lunged forward, jumping off of the edge of the trash with just enough force to get a grip on the bottom of the fire escape. He wasted no time in pulling himself up, his arms conditioned to be much faster and stronger than his legs. Once safe he leaned back to smile at the surprised pair. Both had rushed forward when the teen leaped and were now staring in shock under the escape. "and invisible makes for a pretty good escape artist. See ya," He began to leave, only to stop as he remembered something. "Oh yeah." Deliberately he pulled out all of the wallets, emptying them of their cash and wiping them down of the front of his T-shirt before pointedly tossing their empty shells to the men's feet. "I found some wallets. Thought I should turn them in to the FBI. Thanks."

With that he turned and scurried up the connecting ladders before managing to disappear into the roof. When he finally managed to clamor onto the roof he let out a sigh, leaning against a turbine and gently probing his ankle. That was too close. He almost hadn't reached the fire escape. A low, relieved chuckle worked his way out of his mouth. That could have been embarrassing.


	2. For Once, Then, and Something

Peter growled angrily, biting into his lunch with gusto. Neal chuckled beside him, biting into his own sandwich with his natural grace. "I told you that we wouldn't get much. These guys are practically invisible."

"When you said you had a source I didn't think it would be some nut crazier than Mozzie blathering about the 'Guardians of Childhood' defeating 'the Boogeyman'."

"I tried to warn you there was nothing there. Really, until yesterday I didn't believed that they existed."

Peter sighed. "Fine. Just... from what the kook said, what do you know is true?"

"Nothing Peter. These guys are so under the radar that Mozz had barely heard of them. Absolutely everything is rumor and myth, no substance."

"Are there any consistencies in the rumors, at least?"

"A few. Four people, all with different codenames and talents. The art forger is called the Easter Bunny, but I was never interested enough in the rest to look into them. They always donate the proceedings from their heists to children's organizations and they usually steal from corrupt companies or criminals or something. They're kind of like vigilantes. And as ridiculous as it sounds, they do refer to themselves as 'The Guardians'."

"… And?"

"Sorry Peter, that's really all I got."

"Great. Just great." The man stood from his seat in the deli, Neal following behind as he stacked his tray and left for the car. "It's noon and we have nothing. The only thing we're bringing back to the Bureau are a handful of stolen wallets."

"Isn't that a job for the police? Or a left and found somewhere."

"Since we retrieved them, we have to document them before we turn them in. Of course. People won't be happy that they're getting returned empty either. Stupid kid."

"You have to admit, he had style."

"He had _your _style. Sarcastic, brash, with no regard for life or limb as long as he got his loot."

"You're just upset that I caught him and you didn't."

"No, I'm upset because we just wasted four hours listening to the ravings of a conspiracy fanatic that made Mozzie seem sane."

"Yeah, Yeah." Neal said disinterestedly, flipping through the wallets as the argument became circular. Suddenly he sat up. "Wait a minute. James Nuchal, wasn't he in one of your case files yesterday?"

Peter nodded, glancing at the ID as he stopped at a light. "The company he worked for has been steadily losing money for a while and their accountants can't figure out why. They think someone is abusing company credit cards, but we can't pinpoint who it is. He was one of the main suspects."

"Hmmm." The CI replied distractedly, searching through the wallet's pockets. "Well here's the company card. Certainly been used often enough, look how worn out it is."

"Yeah. Unfortunately that isn't enough to prove anything."

Neal continued to fiddle with the bit of leather for a moment. "Nothing helpful here either. I was hoping to find a receipt but…"

"If there were any then that kid probably ended up with them when he took out the cash. We can kiss any of those potential leads goodbye."

"Come on, why are you being so hard on the kid?"

"Why? I'll tell you why. In ten years he's going to be just like you: sly, cocky as all get out, and on a one way track to prison if he isn't already there."

"Peter-"

"And that's if he isn't killed by one of those gangs he rats on first. Don't pretend you didn't see him limp. He's been hurt and it's not hard to figure out how. It's either the gangs or trouble at home. Frankly I don't know what would be worse. I don't care how 'invisible' he thinks he is, he's in danger."

Neal sighed, knowing that Peter had only spoken the truth. "I'm worried about him too." He admitted. "But you don't have to worry about abusive parents, he was homeless."

"How can you tell?"

Neal sighed for a moment, pondering how to pose his answer. Really he wasn't sure why he was so convinced that the kid was homeless, it was intuition more than anything, but he didn't want to admit it. "A bunch of little things really. The way everyone ignored him, like he was a stray dog instead of a kid. His clothes were worn down and absolutely disgusting, like he slept on the ground every night. He stole cookies when the woman had plenty of fruit rolling around, even though he had a lot bigger chance of getting caught, like he wouldn't spare the money to get himself something sweet. Mostly it was how… reckless he was and how desperate he was for attention. I don't even think he cared about our wallets after I grabbed him, but even after I told him you were FBI he was willing to risk getting arrested just to talk. He doesn't seem at all worried about the enemies he must have."

Peter was nodding unhappily. "Almost like no one would care if he were alive, in jail, or dead."

"Exactly." Neal replied as Peter pulled into the parking lot. "Besides," he added as they got out of the car. "I'm sure the Burke gut agrees with me."

Peter smiled. "Most accurate instrument the FBI has."

Neal gave him a matching grin before grabbing the wallets out from the car. "Let's see if Diana can pick anything up from this before we turn it in, just in case."

"Yeah. But I'm pretty sure anything helpful is with the kid: long gone."

* * *

Jack hummed to himself, unsure if the noise was seated in relief or disappointment. It wasn't necessarily a bad haul, he'd certainly been able to get enough people, but New Yorkers just didn't carry around much cash anymore. Everyone used credit cards these days. Leaning back against the low railing atop of the roof he was currently trespassing on. For a moment he debated moving to a more touristy area. He would have to change his routine since no tourists would be awake for his 'late for school' routine and he was getting a little old to be playing the pitiful lost child. He was sure that he could think of something though.

Maybe he would only work down there when he really needed money. After all, he though as his mind turned to the two men who had caught him that day, things were so interesting on these streets. He would hate for life to just get boring.

With a small grin the boy made his way down from the roof, heading to a pizza parlor across the street. The teen leaned slightly on his staff, using it for leverage as he jumped from the fire escape to the dirty ground. He had retrieved it right after escaping from the men who'd caught him, and was thankful for it's presence as his ankle began to throb.

Jack breathed in deeply as he crossed the street, his mouth watering as he scented the tomato and cheese spiced air from his destination. With a cheeky grin to the waitress he perused the menu. Technically it would be a better deal just to get a large, but he knew that his underfed stomach couldn't really hold that much and he had no way to keep it from spoiling. With a slight sigh he decided on a medium, knowing that the pie would last at least until dinnertime.

As he waited for the pizza to bake, he settled into one of the surrounding picnic tables and idly sorted through the receipts he's found while going through the cash he'd lifted. Sometimes it was fun to go through the slips and try and figure out what his marks' lives were like. It was nice to imagine a normal life. The only bad part was that he could never really test out his deductions. After all, who knew if the man from this first receipt really had kids, or just really liked Teddy Grahams and juice boxes.

Mhmm. Three tubs of ice cream, a new dartboard, and two pairs of shoes. Guessing bad break up.

Two bouquets of roses, a necklace, and a $30 box of chocolates. A guy trying to _avoid_ a bad break up.

He laughed quietly to himself, glancing up to make sure his food still wasn't done before moving onto the next one. Oh, this was no fun, a company card. He began to shift the receipt to the back before a semi-familiar name caught the teen's eye and made his eyebrows shoot to the sky. That must have been some business meeting to take place in the Masa. That was the most expensive restaurant in the city. And considering this was NYC, that meant something. He glanced down the rest of the list, his surprise growing at the various expenses listed. He didn't think that the company really paid for all _that_! Flipping to the next receipt his surprise only multiplied. Same company, same amount, completely different reasons listed. These actually seemed like genuine expenses. He groaned as he realized that he was holding proof of fraud. Something he was sure that FBI agent and his CI friend would be ecstatic to have.

The teen eyed the trash can, tempted for a moment to simply toss it and run, but his morals wouldn't let him. He couldn't just let this guy get away with theft. With a final groan he jumped up to retrieve his finally finished pizza, picking up a soda before paying and rushing out the door, pizza box in tow.

He walked down the street slowly, struggling to hold onto his staff and the pizza box and attempting to bite into the piping hot pie as he made his way down the street. The teen sighed, knowing that he had absolutely no intention of waltzing into the FBI building to hand over a couple of receipts that could possibly mean nothing. Sliding the slips of paper into a protected pocket of his backpack, the pale teen fell onto a bench, pizza sitting on his lap as he people- watched for a moment. The weird bald guy with glasses, Fozzie, or Mo or Curly or something, was back, pretending to read a newspaper as he attempted to get the man sitting across from him to 'follow proper spy protocol'. Jack allowed himself a small chuckle before lapsing back into an introspective silence. How was he going to contact Neal Cafferey or Peter Burke?

Suddenly he shot to his feet, nearly losing the cardboard box in his excitement. He'd gotten a look at the Agent's license, he had his address. The teen closed his eyes for a moment, forcing himself to remember the house number and street. He grinned when the address finally came to mind, quickly swallowing the last few bites of his lunch and throwing the box away, not bothering to give himself enough time to be surprised that he'd eaten the whole thing in one sitting. He had more important things to think about.

Moments later the teen stood, throwing his hood up in attempt to cover his face from the chilly air. For a moment he was distracted, his thoughts turning to finding shelter for the coming winter, but he quickly dismissed the concern. He'd managed before, right? For the last three years at least, maybe even beyond that, he wasn't sure. He couldn't remember that far back… Suddenly the boy shook, forcibly pulling his thoughts away and turning them to finding Burke's house.

Lucky for him the house wasn't too far from the park. For a moment he simply stared from across the street, watching the row of quaint but homey looking houses. For a fraction of a moment he allowed himself to daydream about what it would be like to have a house like that. A family to welcome you home from school and provide meals. However, he couldn't let himself ponder that for long. It would only lead to a tanging bitterness, and why have that when you could distract yourself with a bit of fun.

With a grin he moved towards the house, hopping onto the railing surrounding the house as he eyed the building, setting his staff against the rails. He could just leave it in the mailbox, but who knows if the agent would actually see it. Come to think of it, the pale boy wasn't even sure that he'd gotten the right place. After all, he only had his memory of seeing a license for a split second to go by. Jumping down to stand on the other side of the fence, he was startled from his thoughts by a loud barking and a golden doggy-head appearing from behind a curtain.

"Satchmo!" An unfamiliar voice called chidingly from inside the home. The dog gave Jack one last warning bark before disappearing to his master. The white-haired teen grinned before making his way up the steps to the door. Someone was home. This just got easier. Someone who didn't know who he was. A _whole _lot easier. With a wide grin the teen rapped his knuckles against the door and leaned back on his staff to wait.

* * *

Elizabeth Burke smiled as she inhaled the sweet aroma of tea and settled into the comfy couch as she eyed the folders strewn around the coffee table. She loved working from home. Same workload, much better conditions, and no distracti-

Her thoughts were interrupted as Satchmo jumped up to the window, barking like a madman. She sighed and called his back, scratching the pooch behind the ears as he obediently moved to lay by her feet. She had just opened a new folder when light tapping sounded at the door. She sighed, sending a joking look at Satchmo as the dog stood to rush to the door. "Maybe I would have gotten more work done if I'd stayed at the office." She chuckled to herself. "If this is Mozzie than I definitely would have gotten more work done at the office."

She moved back the slip of fabric covering the window on the door, starting when instead of the familiar bald head and large glasses; she was met with the sight of stark white hair and a Cheshire grin. Pulling Satchmo back she opened the door, looking to the teen with surprise.

"Um, hello?"

"Hey." The teen greeted back. "Um, are you Mrs. Burke?"

"Yes?"

"Oh good." The boy swung his backpack around crouching to pull a couple of receipts out of the pocket. "Here, I'm not really sure that they're anything, or whose they are or anything like that, but I thought they could be so… I mean, could you just get these to your husband? Please?"

Elizabeth watched with confused amusement when the seemingly collected teen turned into a babbling child with less than two words from her. She smiled as she took the slips of paper, watching with a type of the befuddled amusement as the boy crouched down to pet Satchmo as though he wasn't standing in front of a complete stranger's house. The woman's amazement only grew as she realized what the slips were. "Is this fraud?"

"It is? Oh good, I was worried I had brought it over here for nothing." He gave Satchmo one last pat. "So yeah, just give this to - or Agent- Agent Burke I guess. You can tell him it's from one of the wallets Jack Frost stole earlier."

"Jack Frost?" She repeated, testing out the odd name of the even odder boy. "Wait, stolen wallets?"

A slight frown crossed the boys lips as his expression shifted to thoughtful. "Oh yeah, I never told them my name. Meh, they'll get it if you just mention the wallet thing. Thanks, see ya." He turned as if the hop the fence, but as he shifted Elizabeth caught sight of his slight frame, his skinny arms.

"Hey, um, Jack? Thanks for bringing me this, but Peter didn't tell me anything about you. This sounds like a fascination story, but unfortunately my husband isn't much of a storyteller. Would you like to come in and talk about it over sandwiches?"

The teen paused, shivering, and looked longingly at the house for a moment before slowly shaking his head. "Nah. Thanks, but I would rather not be around when Agent Burke gets here. I think he's probably still mad that Neal caught me lifting their wallets before he did. Besides, I just managed to put away a whole pizza. I wouldn't be able to eat anything. Thanks though." He called out the last as he deftly hopped over the fence, using his staff as leverage, and left without another word.

Elizabeth watched his disappearing form for only a moment before turning back to the house and picking up her cell. "Peter, you have a lot of explaining to do."

* * *

Peter Burke glared at the single offending wallet still sitting in his office as though it would magically start spouting evidence. He wasn't sure why he was so fixated on what was, admittedly, a fairly petty crime, but it galled him to be so close but unable to pin the guy. Once again he stemmed through the compartments of James Nuchal's billfold, but could find nothing that garnered any more suspicion than the overused card. They had turned in all of the other wallets, but kept this one claiming it was evidence. What he had hoped to get from the empty leather fold was beyond his reckoning, but by now it was time to simply give up and return the wallet.

He had just begun reaching for his office phone when his cell rang. Breathing a slight sigh of relief he pulled out his cell, smiling when the caller ID showed a picture of his beautiful wife. "Hey El," He greeted lovingly.

"Peter, you have a lot of explaining to do."

The man froze for a moment as he panicked tried to figure out what he could have done to land him in the doghouse this time. "Honey? Was I supposed to meet you for lunch or something? If I was I'm so sorry, today has been… hectic. The only source we had about a stolen painting turned out to be a complete dud then there was this huge debacle with this mini-Neal we met on the streets, and-"

"Yeah, well seems your Mini-Neal paid me a visit."

"What?"

"Some kid just showed up at the house. He said he knew you and Neal, something about stolen wallets…"

"Trust me, El, you don't want to know. What did he want?"

"He was dropping off some receipts he found in one of the wallets. Peter, I think someone is stealing from their work using a company card."

The man's eyes shot to the singular remaining wallet. "What? Is there a name on the receipts?"

"Just a company name, Bleakview Contracting."

Peter grinned, flipping to Nuchal's company card, eyes alighting with glee when Bleakview Contracting sat imprinted where a name would be. "Hon, I'll be right over."

He hung up and made his way to the elevator, Neal jumping up as the man passed his desk. "What's up?"

"Seems like the wallet thief paid Elizabeth a visit. He brought her just what we needed to implicate Nuchal."

"Seriously? Peter, how did he find your house?"

The man froze, not moving again until the elevator opened for him to get on. "… I don't know. Ever since Keller took El I've been trying to keep my address as well hidden as possible."

Neal said nothing more for the rest of the elevator ride, speaking only when they left for the lobby. "He did say he was an informant, and he seemed to be a fan. Maybe he'd done some digging and found where you lived."

Peter shook his head. "If that were true he would have recognized us when he took our wallets. I'm pretty sure he knows us by name only." Neal nodded in agreement. "But you're right about him being an informant. Maybe he traded for the information with someone he knew." Suddenly the man groaned.

"What?"

"Other than you, who is the one criminal we know that knows my address? That isn't in jail."

Neal was already shaking his head. "Mozzie would have just given the evidenced to El himself if the kid came asking. Actually, he probably would have thrown it away and given him a lecture about helping the dastardly suits."

A small grin crossed Peter's face as they finally made it to his car and they pulled out into the street. He couldn't argue that. However, the expression soon slipped from his face. "Then how did he end up with it?"

Neal shrugged. "I'll ask Mozz what he knows tonight. Maybe the kid has a greater reach than we thought."

Peter grumbled in agreement, honestly more concerned about his address floating around in the criminal underworld than in the one kid knowing where he lived.

"Speaking of Mozzie," Neal continued, "he has perfect recall. The kid got a glance at your liscense so maybe he does to." The two were silent for the rest of the short car ride. At one point Peter began to wonder why Neal had decided to invite himself along, but he couldn't really find it odd enough to question. The CI did it often enough after all. Elizabeth was sitting at the table when they arrived, looking through folders distractedly with the a pair of receipts sitting in a plastic bag nearby.

She smiled as the pair entered, Satchmo jumping to his feet to waddle over to them. "Hey hon, Neal." The woman greeted as she rose to peck her husband on the cheek.

"Hey." Peter responded. Neal nodded in greeting as he gave into Satchmo's call for attention and began patting the dog's head.

"So…" The woman began, "Jack Frost."

Both men blinked at her in confusion. "Who?" Peter ventured to ask.

"Jack Frost. The kid? White hair, blue eyes, dirty blue hoddie-"

"Mischievous smirk, sticky fingers…" Neal continued as he realized who she was talking about. Elizabeth nodded and smiled.

"Jack Frost, huh? At least I'll have a name to give Mozzie later." The CI murmured as Peter reached for the plastic bag. Elizabeth grabbed the receipts out of his grasp and help them away.

"No way. Not until I hear what happened."

Neal smirked. "The great Peter Burke got his wallet stolen by a fifteen year old pickpocket."

"But of course, like recognizes like and so Neal caught him right away and immediately proceeded to offer him a deal, promising not to tell his big bad FBI friend as long as the kid handed back the wallets quietly."

"And since you consider him a 'mini-Neal', I'm guessing he didn't go for it."

"Nope. Threatened to cry kidnapper. I'm almost proud."

"Of course you would be." Peter snorted.

The other man grinned. "Anyway, finally Peter realized something was up and forced me to manhandle the child into a closed off alleyway."

"What?" The woman exclaimed. "And nobody said anything?"

Both men frowned, any amusement disappearing completely. "No." Peter said simply. "Nobody looked twice, even when he made it clear we were harassing him."

There was a long, tense moment of silence. Finally, Neal broke it with a small cough. "He didn't really struggle much anyway. Went pretty quietly, actually."

"Yeah, uh, anyway. He gave us our wallets back once we made it to the alley. Then, after fangirling a bit he gave us the money back too."

"Another Neal fan?"

"Actually, he was a fan of Peter's too."

"And, he knew an unhealthy amount about some of our past cases." Peter grumbled. Elizabeth's eyebrows rose, but she didn't comment. "Then, he jumped off of a dumpster, onto a fire escape and proceeded to sit above our heads, emptying the wallets of their cash and dropping them to our feet before climbing up the escape and running away."

Neal grinned. "He had style."

Elizabeth snorted as she handed her husband the bag. "Sounds like it."

"So what happened here?"

"Not much. I was doing work when the doorbell rang. He gave me the receipts, told me to give them to you, and used his stick-thing to jump over the fence and disappear."

"Stick thing?" Neal questioned.

"Yeah, a wooden staff, kinda looked like a shepherd's crook."

"He didn't have that when we saw him."

"Weird." The woman shrugged, and for a few awkward seconds silence reigned as no one had any more input into the conversation. "Well, honey, I'll just give this to you. Think you'll be home for dinner tonight."

"Yeah, we just have an embezzler to arrest and I'll be home before suppers out of the oven. It's not like we've found any helpful leads with any of our other cases."

Neal rolled his eyes and Elizabeth chose to ignore the statement, deciding that it was something more appropriate to talk about that night over a homemade lasagna. "Well, go get 'em honey!"


	3. Meeting and Passing

Meeting and Passing

Jack slowly made his way around town, sticking to more populated areas in attempt to avoid trouble. A single snowflake meandered down from the sky and he couldn't help but smile as he spotted another, a light snow beginning to fall. He laughed and turned towards the Timmy Nolan children's park. It was still too early for any kids to be out, and their certainly wasn't enough snow to play in it, but watching the kids always put him in a good mood. Not that he was in a bad mood, in fact it had been a fairly nice day.

He hung around the nearly empty park for a while before grinning and reaching to the bulging backpack around his back to pull out a handful of bills and rush to the toy shop across the street. A small grin pulled at his lips as he perused some of the plastic outdoors games. The wiffleball set looked like fun, but in the cold even a thin ball like that could really smart, and he'd set up a game of bowling last time. That had been a while ago though. Finally his mind was made up when he saw badminton sets on clearance on the wall. A little out of season but it would do. Carefully prying a set off of its shelf, he hurried to pay and set up the game at the park before the schools opened.

He liked to do this whenever he had a successful haul. It wasn't often, he definitely wasn't some kind of fairy tale that gave toys to kids whenever they were good, but he loved watching their joy when they saw a new game at the park, how any of their troubles or sadness or fear melted away at the thought of fun. It made it easier for him to forget his own troubles, especially when he found some way to get in on the games without any of the kids or parents noticing. Strangely enough, not many parents were okay with their kids playing with the homeless teen who spent nearly all of his time watching little boys and girls in the children's park. Go figure. Most kids were advised to stay well away from him. Luckily, being invisible wasn't only good for hiding from angry cops or gang members. He usually found some way to join in the fun unnoticed.

The boy pulled a well-worn book out of his backpack and sat down to wait, glancing at the clock in the park's center every once in a while to check with the time and smiling when he saw his favorite group of kids heading down from school. He lifted the book higher to hide his grin when one of the little girls, Pippa, noticed the game he'd set up and squealed with excitement. The group ran to gather up the rackets, picking teams and arguing over who got to go first while little Sophie squealed in excitement and happily tossed one of the birdies to herself. Jack dropped the façade of reading and openly watched the group with a content smile. They never noticed and he wouldn't attract any notice until kids with parents started to show up. Though he doubted anyone would. When it was this cold, people only went to the park if there was enough snow to play in. These kids always came though, through sunshine or snow or wind. Only torrential rain kept them away. They didn't have much to go home to anyway.

All of their families had fallen on really hard times. Their parents had all been the everyday workers at some company, but the CEO had been discovered to be in the middle of some million dollar fraud and he was put in jail and the company shut down. The families had all had to sell their houses and now lived at some horrible apartment building. The rent was only about $700 a month, but still. It was horrible, dirty and grungy and gross, with an angry dog that stole their beds. Though Jamie and his little sister Sophie seemed to make nice with the mutt, called it Abbey or something.

He smiled softly as he watched the children play, their hands and heads thankfully bundled by hats and gloves bought when times were good. After a while his revery was broken as one of the birdies got stuck at the top of a nearby tree. The children paid little mind, quickly going to play with one of the extras from the pack. Jack however, jumped to his feet. Unnoticed by the children, he made his way up a nearby tree, passing between trees using crossing branches. Finally he was only a few meters away from the erstwhile birdy, so silent that not a one of the children had the slightest hint that he was there. Well, none of them except one. Sophie, who had been deemed too young to actually participate, giggled at him and waved. Jack responded with a smile as he stretched and managed to knock the branch the small projectile sat on.

The bauble fell slowly to the ground, disrupting the play and making the children cheer and groan at the same time. However, by the time the kids looked up to the branch where the birdy lay, Jack had already disappeared into the wind.

The pale teen waited for a while, watching the children, until he finally could not stand the chill seeping through his threadbare hoodie any longer. The young lad slowly jogged from the park. He needed to move if he wanted to keep warm. Maybe the ice rink by the big tree was open, it was cold enough after all. Then he could pickpocket and work on his skating moves at the same time. After all, the tree was tourist central, and these days tourists were the only ones in New York who still carried cash. Maybe he could get a hot coco from a shop nearby too. Yeah, that sounded good.

* * *

Neal smiled to himself when he made it home and found Mozzie well into one of his bottles of wine. "I see you've made yourself right at home."

"Quite. This Bordeaux is excellent."

"Of course it is." The man answered as he pulled out a wine glass of his own. "That's why I bought it." Drink in hand the man settled onto one of the chairs and began idly doodling in his sketchbook as he waited for his friend to finish his long winded story of a deal he had done in the park that day. Apparently he was especially pleased because whoever was on the the other side of the deal "followed correct protocol". Which probably meant included blindingly fake newspapers and a code about hummingbirds.

After a moment the artist looked down to see a mischievous smirk looking back at him. Less than a second later he realized that he'd drawn a young boy's face, light hair splayed out haphazardly and the beginning sketch of a hood around his neck.

Mozzie took a moment to sip at his drink, and Neal used that opportunity to take hold of the conversation. "Do you know anything about Jack Frost?"

"Jack Frost? Where did you hear about him?"

"He tried to take my wallet."

"He's practically unheard of. He doesn't work with anybody, deals in mostly small stuff, and never gets caught."

"Until today."

"You caught him? Oh great, that probably means the Suit has him rotting away in some jail cell."

"Nope. He gave us the slip. But if he's so good, how do you know about him?"

"I've heard rumors. Not many, mind you, but enough."

"Well, let's hear what you've got."

"I've heard that he's young, really young. No one can give an exact number, but he's been around for about three years. From what I hear of his appearance and his talents, I'm guessing between eighteen and twenty one. He-"

"Guess again, Mozz."

"What?"

Neal slid over his sketch, the boy's young face grinning up at them. "He's only about 5"7'. Sixteen would be pushing it."

"B-but then, when he started he would have had to only be-"

"Thirteen at the most."

Mozzie gulped. "And he was good at thirteen. Three years ago the newspapers were exploding with articles about all the pickpocketing. It took a group of some of the city's best underworld complaining about their wallets being stolen and accusing each other for hours before they realized that they had all seen the same kid before it happened. Obviously they weren't thrilled that a kid had stolen off of them, so the name didn't exactly spread."

"Sounds like a new Dentist of Detroit."

Mozzie frowned. "Except Frost doesn't even have a front man."

"Yeah, and he chose a better alias that 'Dentist'. Where did you get the name Jack Frost for the kid anyway."

"He acts as intel for some of the thieves or gangs around where he operates. Apparently that was the name he told them to use. It fits, the kid is practically a myth with how hard it is to spot him. I've heard that in the winter, he can completely disappear. Gone like frost melting in the sun."

"And I bet your wallet feels his sting for a while."

Mozzie nodded with a smile. "He's tried some theft too, but no fence will take him seriously. He's too young, and not many people know about him. They offer half of what they should be because they think he's some rich brat pawning off his dad's antiques. I've heard he doesn't take kindly to that. Hey, if you see him again, ask about the Black Gold debacle. I want to hear the details about that one."

There was a moment of silence as both were lost in their own thoughts. "I don't like this, Mozz. The kid is too young for this."

"Hey, I started out younger than him, and look how I turned out."

"And you were too young for it too!" Mozzie could only bow his head, completely unable to argue. "And wouldn't you have killed to have some kind of mentor or helper or something. And at least you were smart enough to keep yourself hidden. This kid is all over the place."

"I disagree. He's been operating for three years and this is the first the suits have heard of him."

"It's not the FBI I'm worried about. Not when he's stealing from criminals. When we found him today, he was favoring a leg. He's going to get himself seriously hurt, if he hasn't already. Do you think that you could find him?"

"And tell him what, exactly? Look Neal, I agree with you, we need to get this kid off the streets- if only to show him the basic tools of self-preservation- but remember, I've been in his shoes. I can promise you, he isn't going to trust a couple of good Samaritans. Especially not ones who know about his… talents. That will only land him in trouble. This isn't like with Robin Hoddie. Jack Frost isn't looking for help, he'll be hard to hold down."

Neal sighed. "I know."

Silence filled the room for a moment before Mozzie finally spoke. "Okay, what up? This seems like more than just you wanting to help out a homeless kid."

"I don't know, Mozz. I just… he's like..." The conman sighed. " If you met him playing 'the lady' in the park, you would follow him for hours trying to convince him to be your apprentice. If we'd met with him before I was arrested, we wouldn't have hesitated to pull him in to help us with our cons. I know that with how he handles his enemies, it seems like he's not the brightest card in the deck, but he's smart. He's good at finding the impossible way out, but it's made him cocky. He's convinced himself that he can get out of any situations and it's made him too brash to be safe, but he's just sly enough to manage it."

"So, he's you."

"Except I have experience, people looking out for me, and a home to go to at the end of the day."

"So, he's you, with my past?"

Neal sighed and nodded. "Peter calls him 'the Mini-Neal'. When I caught him stealing our wallets, his first reaction was to smirk and brag about how impressive he was. He got away by jumping off of a dumpster onto a fire escape. He practically flew. Then, he sat right above our heads, pulled out over ten wallets, kept the cash and dropped the emptied wallets down to us. Said that he found them and though he should turn them into the FBI. Then he disappeared."

Mozzie grinned. "I like the sound of him."

"He definitely has flair. But listen to this, When Peter and I looked through the wallets, we found one that belonged to a suspect of an embezzlement scam, but any evidence had been taken with the cash. When Jack some suspicious looking receipts he brought them to Elizabeth to give to Peter. We have the man in jail waiting to make bail right now because of him."

"I'm sure Mrs. Suit just loved him. If you heard some of the stories…"

"Oh? Do tell."

* * *

Peter sighed as he entered the office, sitting down heavily in his desk until Neal came in with a cup of coffee. "Bad morning?"

"It wasn't, until I got the call about Nuchal's trail date. It's in a month."

"What? Don't embezzlers like him usually just plead guilty?"

"Yes, but the evidence against them was usually found is a more… traditional way."

"What are you talking about?"

"He's hoping that he can get off by claiming that we illegally obtained the evidence. How do you think we're going to explain how we got the receipt? I'm going to go up there and say 'I was walking with my CI- world renown thief Neal Cafferey-"

"-alleged thief."

"-around town and just happened to run into Nuchal's wallet, emptied by a pickpocket. Then, the pickpocket mysteriously knows where I live and gives the receipts to my wife so that we can turn it into the court. Just how do well do you think that is going to go over without a witness?"

"What about Elizabeth?"

"It wouldn't work, she's my wife."

"Which leaves…Jack Frost. Would the FBI be willing to grant amnesty for him?"

"Yeah, but I'd like to see you convince him of that."

"I'm sure I could figure something out. He did bring the receipts back, after all. The hard part is going to be finding him again, but I have a few ideas."

"Can't you just get Mozzie to set up a meeting?"

"Turns out that we've seen more of the kid than he has."

"Hm. Did he have anything to say about the Easter Bunny guy?"

"Not much. We spent most of the night talking about Jack, but Mozzie doesn't know anything more about them than me. They don't really interfere with anyone else's work, and they don't recruit so anyone who knows about them pretty much ignores them. He said he'd keep his ears open though."

"Hmm." Peter nodded and took a big drink of his coffee. "Well then, don't you have a tiny thief to find."

"Tsk. I think that's more of a lunch thing." The CI responded with a shrug.

"Well then get to work. Mortgage fraud doesn't solve itself."

* * *

Hours later Neal found himself leaving a Panini shop, a paper bag bulging in both hands, each one full of a meal. He made his way to a familiar alleyway, throwing one of the bags over the railing of the fire escape before settling onto the closed lid of the dumpster and pulling out one of his own Panini's as he waited, occasionally glancing at the untouched bag. Jack knew this, because he was watching from a nearby rooftop.

Jack had noticed the man the instant that he'd stepped into his "territory" and had followed him. Quietly, the teen made his way to the building he had escaped to the day before. As silently as a snowflake he slid down the escape, sitting cross legged by the bag before reaching in for his lunch, causing not even the slightest crinkle of the paper sack.

"You know," He suddenly declared, watching in joy as the man attempted to hide a startled jump at the voice. Neal looked up at him unhurriedly, as though completely expectant of the boy's sudden appearance, though both knew that it wasn't true. "You're going to ruin that expensive suit if you keep on sitting on dumpsters."

The conman grinned. "I'm not too worried. I've had plenty of experience with hiding in trash. The smell goes away eventually."

Jack shrugged, consciously avoiding sniffing his own clothes. Maybe it did if you had dry cleaning. "So, any particular reason you chose to ruin you suit? Or were you just that desperate for a lunch date."

"Oh, I was just looking for a place with nice ambiance."

"Oh yes, I've heard gross alleyways are all the rage these days."

"Big with the kids."

"Sure." Jack rolled his eyes with a smile and bit into the warm sandwich. "So did you get the receipts okay?"

"We did, that's actually why I came to talk to you."

"So it wasn't for my sparkling company and wit? I'm wounded."

Neal smirked. "Sorry to disappoint. Maybe some other day. Same time next week?"

The boy gave no reply other than to grin. "So then, what's the problem?"

"How do you feel about testifying in court?"

"I feel like it would land me in prison."

"How about if you were granted amnesty by the FBI?"

"Look, I already gave you guys the evidence, now I have to testify too? Are you going to do any of the work?"

"Well, you see, that's part of the problem. Because of my own… fairly illustrious past, the courts would never believe that an unrelated pickpocket would happen to find the wallet of a man we were investigating and turn in key evidence. Unfortunately, that would be a pretty flimsy story without…"

"Without the pickpocket himself. Oh great." He sighed, dropping the empty sack and soda bottle down to Neal, stuffing the chips into his backpack. "So now what?"

"You'll do it?"

"I guess if I hav- hey, wait a minute. What's in this for me? I mean, you guys get another little win for your record and I lose out on a day of work? This doesn't sound like a fair trade. I mean, isn't there some kind of reward for catching people like this?"

"Sorry kid, not for someone this low-profile."

"Well that bites."

"I'm sure I can come up with something." He glanced at the boy, noting the threadbare hoodie that barely protected him from the fierce winter winds. "How about a coat?"

"A coat?" The boy asked, his nose scrunching with confusion.

"Why not? Peter can't technically give you any money without a social security number, but a coat could count as an expense." Neal was stretching the truth a little, they both knew that. The coat would come out of his and Peter's pockets, not the FBI. He was only offering it so that he could make sure the money was used for something the kid really needed. Jack seemed cognitive enough, but who knew what a teen alone on the streets was exposed to.

Frost meanwhile, understood the connotation and couldn't help but be offended. He wasn't going to waste money on drugs when he knew a group of kids who seldom smiled. Besides, he needed his wits about him if he was going to conduct his "business", and he didn't want to be dependent on anything. Being dependent on food was bad enough. He felt himself scowl at the hidden barb, however, as a fiercer wind bit into Jack's shoulders where the fabric was exceedingly thin, he decided to play along.

"A bartering system? I guess that works. Add a pair of shoes and you've got a deal."

Neal looked with a start to realize that the kid was barefoot. In the middle of winter. He gulped. "Sure. It's a deal."

Neal smiled and jumped off the dumpster to stand. Jack stood as well, jumping off the escape to land neatly in a crouch on the alley's floor, a white knuckled grip on his staff his only sign of nerves. "What now?"

"Now, we're going to head to the office so that we can get you filled in on court protocol and-"

"Woah woah woah. Are you crazy? I'm not going into Suit central, that wasn't part of the deal."

"Jack-"

"All I have to do is show up, tell the truth, and leave, right? Why do I have to go over 'protocol' for that? No way, not happening."

"Look, Jack, I have a friend with a rap sheet five times as long as anything you could come up with and he was there once for hours. You'll be fine."

"It _isn't_ happening." The teen insisted, crossing his arms with a stubborn glare.

"I've been a conman for longer than you've been alive kid, I know how to get what I want."

"I'm a teenager. I know how to be stubborn. Besides, didn't you come looking for my help? I don't owe you anything."

The two stood without moving for a long while. Finally Neal nodded. "Fine. The trial is on the 17th of January. Can you meet me at the courthouse at ten?"

"I'll add it to my calendar." The teen said as he turned to disappear.

"Wait!" Neal interrupted. "A month is a long time. What if I need to contact you again? I can't spend every lunch hour on top of a dumpster."

The teen paused, thinking for a moment before grinning. "If you ever need my expertise just draw a snowflake on the wall with some chalk. I'll find you."

Neal nodded, giving the boy his address. Jack hummed to himself with the information, committing it to memory and calling back one more thing before he disappeared. "Hey, just to let you know, my intel isn't exclusive to the gangs. You have any questions about this part of town, you know where to find me." And he was gone.


	4. Chapter 4Provide, Provide

"Jack!" A loud, extremely high voice called, the only waning the pale teen got before he was barreled over by something incredibly colorful. Using his staff to maintain his balance, the teen managed to stay on his feet and whirled to face his opponent. However, he stopped short, gaping, when he came face to face with a small girl about his age, skin tan and hair an array of streaks of different vibrant colors, greens and blues and purples and golds, her clothing matching the display.

"Baby?" The boy exclaimed in surprise. The girl simply pursed her lips.

"Don't you 'Baby' me, mister."

Jack gaped for a second before his lip twisted in amusement. Ah, he got it now. It was a game, one they often played. It was like… spontaneous improvisation, see who could say the most without anyone nearby knowing what they were talking about. He could do this, he loved games. Truly, playing with him was the best way to get his attention, and as his best and only friend Baby Tooth knew this better than anybody.

"Woah, woah. What's this all about?" He asked, slipping into the character of a confused boyfriend.

"You know what this is about! I saw you talking with _her_ outside of her house, and now you're hiding out in alleys for lunch dates? What the heck?"

"Oh." He should have known that she'd hear about his little visits meeting with the FBI and want to do a follow up. Just to be safe. "Look, Baby, this isn't what it looks like, I swear it."

"Oh, I'm sure."

"Really! I had something that she needed and I was just giving it to her."

"Not helping your case, buddy."

"No! I- I mean- I met her friends while I was working and they left something that I knew they really needed. I only knew her address so I was just returning it, I swear. And in the alley, the friend just wanted to check up with me and say thanks."

"And that thanks had to be said behind a dumpster, did it?"

"N-No!" Jack insisted, working hard to keep a grin off of his face and break character. He pretended to glance around, eyeing the group interested in the teen drama. "Come on Baby, can't we do this somewhere different?" Her lips began to quirk, an insistence to go somewhere private was considered giving up, but Jack wasn't quite ready for that yet. "I mean, you're making a scene over nothing. We don't want your mom hearing about us an-"

"Mom won't mind finding out that we're over!"

"Baby, now don't be like that! I swear it was nothing. We barely spoke for five minutes; I'll probably never see her again. Uh, besides, she wasn't nearly as beautiful as you."

Baby snorted, amusement in her eyes, though absent from her tone. "Sure."

"Not nearly as colorful." He added with a grin, dropping his con as a bit of his real personality slipped through. The watching crowd had quickly lost interest in their squabble. "Besides, you mom would be mad if she heard about me even if you broke it off."

She couldn't help but smile. "You're probably right." Baby tooth nodded her head at the café across the street. "But you owe me a coffee while you explain."

Nodding, the boy walked alongside her to the coffee shop. "How is that fair? You're the one whose mother hands out money."

"And I believe you were just treated to a free meal by some tall handsome stranger."

"Meh, he wasn't my type. A little too old and a little too male for my tastes. Besides, with the prices at these places, a meal might have been cheaper."

The girl only laughed and placed her- ridiculously caffeinated- order. Jack smiled as he did the same. "So, why were you really consorting with the feds?" She asked, pulling out her laptop as they sat in a table with drinks in hand.

"Just like I said. I met Special Agent Peter Burke and famed criminal Neal Cafferey at work, tried to lift something from them and it didn't work. But I found evidence in one of the wallets and since I knew Burke's address, I figured I'd turn it in."

"The alley?"

"Apparently handing in key evidence wasn't enough. I also have to testify in court."

"And you're sure that's _all_ that happened?"

"Yeah. What's up BT?"

"They found out about Bunny almost the same day you were seen talking to them."

"What? I thought your Guardian thing was all super secret or whatever."

"Yes, so secret that a pickpocketing streetrat knows about us."

"What can I say? I'm like Aladdin only better. I'm the exception."

"Right. Well, we were super secret, but Bunny and Santa just switched out a painting and they were able to find his mark."

"Ooh. That's rough. So everyone's first thought was me, huh? Bet it was Bunny's idea." The teen grouched, the tiniest note of bitterness sinking into his words.

However, his friend was shaking her head emphatically. "Mom had me look through all of the FBI's official informants, so I was eavesdropping on Cafferey when I heard your name mentioned. Your name wasn't even mentioned."

Jack wasn't sure that made him feel much better, but he said nothing, only taking a long sip of his hot chocolate as he attempted to shrug off how far he was from their minds. Baby Tooth looked down into her drink, knowing well the course of his thoughts. She shifted uncomfortably and coughed. "Right. I've pretty much determined Cafferey recognized it. With his history, I'd be surprised if he hadn't at least heard rumors." She spun the screen of her tablet-computer around to show Cafferey's official report to Jack, taken straight from FBI headquarters. Baby Tooth, and Mama Tooth- also known as 'The Tooth Fairy'- were hackers, traders and gainers of memory and information. Really, The Tooth Fairy was the head honcho, with BT and several other girls working under her as informants and errand girls.

Jack whistled with a smile, any hint of bad mood gone with the shifting of a winter wind. "That's quite a list. Whoa, some of these are legendary."

"Someone like that either knows about us or knows someone who does."

"So? They can't have much, maybe an inkling of a rumor, nothing more. What's the problem? I know you, Baby Tooth, there's something else."

"The Big Four had a meeting yesterday."

"All four of them? I thought you said they almost never all got together."

"They do if it's something big. And trust me, it was big. Mom wanted me and the girls there so that she could give instructions while we checked to see what the FBI knew, so we got to overhear."

"And?"

"And at first it was just a lot of arguing, but when one of my sisters showed Mom their arrest record… let's say it doesn't look good for our chances of keeping secret. They're good."

Jack scoffed. He could have told her that. "So what are you guys planning on doing?"

"I don't know for sure, but… they kept on going back to how even if the FBI knows about all of us, there isn't really anything connecting us to the Boogeyman."

"So you'd all end up in jail while the real criminal, Mr. Tall-dark-and-terrifying would get off scott free without anyone to stop him."

"Exactly. We've kept him down for a while, but with us out of the picture…"

"He'll just build his empire again."

"He's already trying to buy artwork. After he's created a name for himself he'll move onto selling his 'Nightmare' drug. Then, it's only a matter of time before… before children start going missing again."

Jack gulped, breathing deeply. There was no lost love between him and the Guardians- they certainly weren't happy about him knowing who they were- but he couldn't stand by while someone like Pitch kidnapped kids. "So, what can I do?"

"Well, they were talking about maybe getting someone to kind of act like a mole. They could tell the FBI about us, but only what we wanted. And then they could tell them everything about Pitch. The only problem was, they couldn't think of anyone who could be the mole. It would be too dangerous for any one who's actually part of it, especially since it would seem like someone suddenly appearing just to give them the perfect leads to solving the case. It would be too suspicious and if Pitch found out… it wouldn't be good. They don't trust anyone on the outside enough to tell them about us either."

"So they thought of me? Really?"

"Technically… no. Like I said, your name didn't exactly come up."

"Ah. _You_ thought of me."

"Yeah."

"Do they even know that you came to me?"

"Not exactly."

"So how do you think they'll react when they hear that I spilled the beans to the FBI? I mean, Bunny and Santa's Yetis already hate me. Tooth Fairy hasn't even ever met me, and I'm not telling them that you told me. You're the only friend I have and if they get mad…"

"You just have to pretend that you heard it through the grapevine or something. Like you always do."

The boy groaned, closing his eyes and slouching in his seat. After a moment he opened his eyes. "Fine. Okay, so here's what's going to happen. You need to find some way to hint that the Guardians have set up base in my side of town. When none of their usual informants can come up with anything more, eventually they'll think of me."

"You'll do it?"

"Yeah. I have something that I want from the FBI anyway, something you couldn't get without Tooth's alarm bells going crazy."

She squealed and jumped up to hug him. "Thanks Jack!"

"Yeah, yeah. But they're still going to have to do this my way. No special treatment for them. If they aren't good enough to get my information, you guys don't have anything to worry about anyway. Deal?"

"Deal."

He smiled. "Now, what is it I can say and what should be kept secret."

"This might take a while."

Jack held up his empty cup. "Then refills are on you."

* * *

Peter looked up as Neal came into his office toting a couple cups of coffee. The agent gestured to the case file sitting on his desk, a picture of _The Railway_ clipped to the front. "Have you heard anything?"

"Not since last time you asked. None of my informants have found anything."

"FBI hasn't either. I thought we were making progress when Mozzie heard approximately where they were working from, but it's been two weeks and… nothing."

"Well, downtown isn't really a whole lot to go on anyway. I have all of the men looking into it that I can, but… like I said, they're good at keeping hidden."

He sighed angrily. "Of course they are. I guess… just keep your ears open."

* * *

"Any news?" Neal asked as he walked into his apartment, completely unsurprised to see Mozzie sitting at his table, an odd assortment of knick knacks in front of him that Neal was frankly afraid to ask about.

"No, nothing. Look Neal, I think you need to face facts that we aren't going to hear anything about them soon. I've asked everybody I can think of and there's nothing. Why do you want to catch these guys so badly anyway? I mean, to commit the kind of crimes these guys are told to have done for decades and never even show a blip on the Suits radar, let alone anyone else's is nothing short of monumental. If they really do exist, these guys are some of the best thieves of the era. And they give the money to children's organizations, orphanages and stuff. They're practically superheroes."

"I know Mozzie, but that's the thing. I got too excited with the painting. The instant Peter saw the egg, I put them on his list. You know Peter as well as I do, he will find them. As long as I'm in on the investigation, I have a chance to warn them."

"Really?" The bald man asked, torn between skepticism and his faith in his friend.

"Yes. And like I said, we talked to Chuck. Peter thought he was spouting nonsense with the 'Boogeyman' stuff, but…"

"All lies start with a seed of truth."

"Exactly. The problem is, I'm not sure how big the seed is."

Mozzie was silent for a moment, thinking. "Fine. I'll ask around again, but I really think we've tried everyone."

Neal sighed but said nothing, sitting down with a glass of wine and staring out his balcony doors. The CI watched silently as snow floated down past the jet black sky, tiny ice particles forming on the window's glass. Suddenly the man straightened. "Actually, there is one person we haven't tried yet."

Mozzie followed his view confusedly, until a strangled sound left his throat as he caught on to the man's idea. "You can't really think that a kid like that can know more about them than us."

"It is in his part of town. Jack says he knows everything that happens down there."

"Yeah, and not to discredit the youth, but this?"

"It can't hurt to ask. Besides, I never did learn his shoe size."

"Shoe size? Why do you need- never mind. Do you even know how to find him."

"He gave me a… means of communicating with him. You hear anything more about the kid."

Suddenly he grinned, eyes lighting up as though given permission to rant about every conspiracy theory he'd ever conceived. "Actually, I just heard from Valentine how to get information for him."

"Um, I heard asking is good."

"No, you see, with Jack there's methods." The man insisted, eagerly leaning against the table. "He has a lot of information, but he won't give it up unless you ask right, jump through his hoops. Of course, according to Valentine that might just be because he likes making it harder on the gangs. As much as he likes the money, apparently he doesn't really like giving them information."

"So, he probably won't make me jump through the hoops?"

"Maybe not, but it always helps to be prepared. I can't really see him giving anyone special treatment."

"You're right." Neal said after a moment of pondering what he knew about the boy, though he couldn't help a grin from spreading as Mozzie's interest grew contagious. "So, what do I need to do?"

"You have to play a game with him."

"A game."

"That's right. He'll only stay as long as he's entertained. The instant he gets bored he leaves. He doesn't give an explanation or anything. He just turns around and disappears. The best way to keep him still is to play a game with him."

"So we just have to play chess while we talk?"

"That could work. Though, I haven't heard that he's really interested in chess. Most of the time, he plays games using the information. Like, he'll write all of his information on separate slips of paper and plays small games for each one. For every round they win they get the information. For every round he wins, he gets payment. Or, he'll give a certain number of words that people have to use to ask questions or give answers. If anyone uses too many or too little, they're out. If he loses, then it goes on to a normal interrogation. If he wins, he leaves when his last opponent loses with the money. There are dozens of games like that, but those are his favorites."

"Who would actually play along with stuff like that?"

"Someone worried that the information would go somewhere else if they didn't."

"Sounds to me like he's more bored than anything."

"Bared and desperate for attention. That's how Valentines describes him, and he gets almost all of his news from Jack. After all, he has some of the lowest asking prices and if you play the games well enough, it can be practically free."

"Well, I can see how that would be appealing."

"Yes, but the problem is, he has _practice_ playing all of his games. By now it's hard to beat him. What we have to do, is think us a game that he doesn't already play, but will keep his interests."

"Okay, that shouldn't be too hard. We just have to make up a new word game."

For a long period there was nothing but silence. One hour and seven discarded ideas later, no progress had yet to be made.

* * *

"For the last time Mozzie, skip codes hidden in Haiku's would be too complicated."

"**No**, if you try **it**

If you **wouldn't **see but what

**be** syllable four."

"Yes it would. It's supposed to be fun and simple, not a code." He sighed. "We might be here a while."

"Hours to go before I sleep, hours to go before I sleep." The short man quoted.

"That's _Robert_ Frost."


	5. The Code- Heroics

AMAZING NEWS PEOPLE! I just finished High School! WHOO HOO! Only a few more months till college! BTW, if any of my readers are go to Libery University in Virginia, let me know! I'll see you there soon!

* * *

Jack grunted as another blow landed on his stomach, the force throwing him the ground where he lay, panting. A heavy boot fell upon his back, keeping him pinned while a man knelt over him. The teen growled to himself, but didn't dare make an audible complaint, neither a sound of pain nor of irritation. His life was in a fairly precarious position at the moment.

In his opinion it was pure cowardice to sneak up on him in the park, when he was lax and surrounded with children. They had held a gun to his back and he'd been forced to either comply or potentially scar a dozen little boys and girls for life. It wasn't until they forced him into a van that he was able to recognize them as the members of a local gang. He'd acted as informant for them and against them several times in the past. They were some of his best customers. Of course, that was before. See how much they got out of him after this.

The man gripped Jack's hair and pulled his head back, making him look into angry dark eyes. Jack seethed to himself, forcing a cocky grin onto his face. It wasn't even one of the gang's leaders, just a lackey. The man growled as he forced the heel of his boot into Jack's spine. "You've caused us a lot of trouble boy, ratting us out like that. We lost a lot of money because of you."

"Not my fault you guys weren't smart enough to keep me quiet."

Jack saw stars as his head was slammed into the van floor. The man ground his head into the rough ground. By the time he was dragged up again, his face was marked with red floor burns.

"You see kid, we're getting real tired of these little games of yours."

"Yeah, I would be too if I lost all the time." Jack was pulled up by his hair and thrown into the car's wall, crashing into a toolbox and cutting through his hoodie and arm on one of the sharp sides.

"Here's what's going to happen. You're going to tell us everything you know about… well, anything. If it's enough, we'll let you leave. If not… well I can think of a few good ways for me to vent out my frustration."

"Or, I could tell you nothing and you could just let me go. Hey, I like that plan. Let's do that."

The man kicked Jack in the gut. "Not gonna happen punk." He once more gripped the teen's hair again and pulled it up. "And nobody is coming for you, so we can do this all day." One knee came up to pin the boy to the ground as the man gripped Jack's ankle, twerking it slightly to the side. "I heard you had a run in recently that broke your poor little leg. Put you out of commission for a while, huh? Poor thing." He jerked it roughly, finally drawing a grunt of pain from Jack. "You probably used up all of your reserves already too. How would you ever survive if you broke it again?" Dropping one hand down he pet the teen's other ankle. "Or even both legs. You would be in a spot of trouble then, wouldn't you?"

Jack stilled completely, barely daring to breathe. With winter coming and his fallback money gone, he wouldn't live through the season without use of both of his legs.

"Oh, that caught your attention then, huh?"

Jack gulped, keeping a terrified expression on his face as he reached up to unclip a small canister of pepper spray. He usually liked to use a good deal more finesse, or perhaps a snowball to the face, but desperate times…

"Now, kid, I'm going to ask you nicely one more time. Tell me everything you know."

"That didn't really sound like a question."

"Well, that was the wrong answer." The man's hands flew to the boy's leg, but Jack was already acting. He shot out, kicking out his legs and surging his body up off the floor, shooting the burning mace into the man's face before scrambling away. The car had screeched to a stop at the sound of the man's scream, and Jack used the chance to wrench open the car door and dart away, disappearing into the crowd. His eyes shot in all directions, pleadingly searching for a familiar place to hide. He sighed in relief when he spotted a nearby Library and slipped in amid the silent book-lined shelves.

"Hey Sandy." He called to the local librarian and famed children's book author- and secret Guardian- before slipping into the rarely used section of the building and climbing to lay out on top of one of the bookcases, his thin frame completely hidden. He waited for what felt like hours until he was sure that he was safe, and slipped out of the building with only a backhanded wave to Sandy as he left. Really, Sandy- or The Sandman- was Jack's closest thing to a friend he had after Baby Tooth. The man couldn't talk, but he was always willing to spare a hiding space when he got in trouble or let him stay in the Library during cold weather or bad storms.

He sighed as he made his way back into town, trying to hide his limp until he could retrieve the staff he had dropped at the park. It was late afternoon by the time he finally got it, and the place was almost full as kids played in the inch tall layer of snow that had formed overnight. Jack shivered as he thought about it. He hoped Neal got back to him about those shoes soon. Speaking of, the boy realized that he had yet to check the wall for his symbol that day. After all, it had been weeks since BT started the rumors. They had to start thinking about him soon. The teen yawned as he walked. It had been a big day, once he made sure Neal hadn't shown up yet, he would have to take a nap or something.

However, when he arrived at the familiar alleyway any exhaustion left him. For there, on the wall in white chalk showed the pale shape of one of the most intricate snowflakes Jack had ever seen, a wrapped box sitting underneath it. The boy grinned. That was Neal alright.

He limped to the box excitedly, leaning heavily on his staff to help the leg that the man had twisted. Throwing open the lid he could only gape at what lay underneath. A waist-length blue-grey woolen coat sat in the box, only a size or two too big for him. He gently swung the backpack from his shoulder and dropped it onto the ground, pulling the coat on over his sweater instead. He sighed in relief as it cut out the cold, snuggling into the collar.

He was surprised to find that he loved it. He had been expecting something more similar to a ski jacket like thing, but in retrospect he shouldn't have expected anything less from a man who wore thousand dollar suits. Walking down the hallway he smiled to discover the jacket flowing out dramatically behind him, and could only imagine what it would be like when he jumped from a low roof or fire escape. Grinning like a maniac, he even spun once, just to see what it would look like. It was pretty sweet, billowing out around his thin form. Sticking his hands in his pocket he found a note.

_Hope you like it._

_Sorry, there aren't any shoes, I never did get your size. _

_You know where to meet._

–_Neal _

Still smiling, the teen knelt to grab the fallen backpack. He winced as the movement tugged at his twisted ankle. Groaning, he pulled a small mirror out of his bag. He looked horrible. The new coat hid most of his bruises, but his face was red and puffy with floor burns, and one eye was starting to turn black. And that was just his face. If he had to take off his coat or hoodie, they would see a lot worse. He sighed and maneuvered his hair so that the longest parts fell in front of his face. The coat didn't have a hood, so he had to pull his hoodie's out over the collar, hiding his face in its shadow. He looked at the mirror once more. Ugh. He still looked like crap. He forced the tension out of his body, smiling like everything was right with the world. Better. It was amazing what an expression could do.

Still, as he made his way to the address Neal gave him, he couldn't help a grumpy scowl from crossing his face. Of all the days for them to contact him, it had to be today.

* * *

"Do you really think he'll show?" Peter asked, glancing at the door to Neal's apartment. Diana and Jones looked up as well as they finished setting up the recording device.

"The kid is bored, he's ready for something new. He'll be here."

"And you think that he'll know something?" Diana asked, disbelief coloring her tone.

"I think it possible. It can't hurt to ask anyway."

Jones chuckled. "I'm just excited to meet the kid that stole your guy's wallets."

"He got caught."

"You caught him, Peter didn't."

Said agent rolled his eyes at the snickers that filled the room. "Yes, haha, Peter would have gotten his wallet stolen, hilarious."

When the small laughter died down, there was a long period of silence.

"So…" Jones began. "When did you say he was going to be here?"

"Whenever he sees the snowflake."

"So, it might not even be today?"

"He'll be here."

"Hey Neal," Diana interrupted. "Has that really tall gargoyle always been there?"

All eyes shot to the man's terrace, where a figure stood silhouetted against the setting sun. The figure was thin, a hood covering his face and a staff in hand, coat billowing out in the wind behind him. Neal grinned. "Told you that he'd be here."

He opened the door and beckoned the boy to come in, but Jack didn't move. Neal frowned and made his way forward. "What's up?"

"I don't remember inviting your FBI friends."

"Calm down, it's okay. They aren't planning to arrest you. They're just on the case too, they want to hear your information."

The teen shifted uncomfortably. "I don't like being outnumbered."

Neal froze, his mouth going slightly dry as he read into the implications, his eyes lingering on the staff as he remembered the boy's limp the day that they met. "Right. No problem, there is a surveillance van, across the street. They can wait there. You don't mind if they listen though, do you?"

Jack flinched at the word van, but ultimately nodded. He could see the recorder anyway. "Fine. I don't care if Peter stays too, I guess."

Neal smiled and nodded. "Alright, alright. Just give me a minute to kick them out alright?"

Jack nodded, and Neal made his way back inside. He pointed at the two agents. "You and you need to leave, Jack's orders."

"What?" Jones asked surprised and Diana nearly snarled.

"I'm not taking commands from some kid."

Peter sighed. "Neal-"

"He doesn't like being outnumbered and it's the only way he'll agree to talk with us." There was a moment of silence until Neal spoke again. "He's fine with you guys listening in the van, he just doesn't want you here."

The agents nodded and stood to leave, Diana placing a transmitter next to the recording device. Soon enough, only Peter and Neal remained. Jack waited on the railing until he saw the two enter the van before coming forward, using his staff as leverage to vault across the terrace in attempt to put as little pressure on his leg as possible. He tried to keep from wincing as he walked, but the keen eyes of Peter and Neal missed nothing. The two shared a glance as Jack settled into the chair closest to the clear doors, sprawling out with a cocky grin but never lowering his hood.

"Thanks for the coat by the way, not what I was expecting, but I like it."

"I thought you might. Used two cans of waterproof spray on it too."

"Sweet." The boy settled into the seat, hiding a wince as he wounded arm brushed the wooden chair. Neal nodded, sitting in the chair opposite him while Peter watched both carefully. The elder thief reached for the coffee pot at the center of the table, smiling softly as he poured himself a cup. "June's Italian roast. Peter," He said, gesturing for the mug. "I know you want some." The man nodded, handing over his cup. "Jack? You want a cup?"

The boy shook his head. "I don't like coffee. It's bitter."

"Well," Neal said, "I heard June's maid bragging the other day about her hot coco recipe. How does a cup of that sound?"

Jack smiled. "That'll work."

"Peter, why don't you be a dear and go find her, maybe help her out-"

"Neal-"

"Peter."

Jack's lips twitched up into a smile as the agent groaned but listened to the CI, however, the expression left when Neal turned on him with a serious gaze. "You know Jack, you and I have a lot in common."

"Oh really?"

"Yes. Both well versed in the art of thieves and pick pockets, both devilishly handsome." Jack's lips twitched as Neal continued. "I know how you think, because I think the same way."

"Is that so?"

"We were running a sting operation at a warehouse downtown yesterday and I got a scratch on my shoulder. It's at a bad spot for me to treat it myself, but I haven't told anyone else about it."

Jack shifted in his seat. "What does this have to do with me?" He whispered.

"Take off your hood." The boy didn't move. "I don't like showing people my injuries. It shows them I'm weak, breakable like everyone else. But I'll make you a deal. I'll show you my injury if you show me yours. After all, if we both look weak… then really neither of us does."

"…You might want to get a first aid kit out or something."

Neal nodded and left for the bathroom to grab the kit. Jack took a deep breath and stood, letting the coat fall to the floor. He winced as he pulled his hoodie up over his head, dried blood caught in the sleeve. He hesitated to remove his thin t-shirt, but knew that he had enough serious bruises over his stomach and chest and eventually tugged it off. His legs were okay other than the one ankle, so he made no move to take off his pants, only waiting for Neal to return. The CI froze when he saw the teen's battered form. Jack refused to meet his eyes, keeping his gaze locked onto the table.

"My, uh, my arm is probably the worst. Then the… the burns on my face. My ribs are fine, you can't do much for the bruises, but… my ankle is twisted, maybe sprained. It could stand to be wrapped."

Neal swallowed thickly. "Alright. I'll start with your arm then. Hold it out." Jack obeyed silently, looking to the ground as Neal cared to the long scratch. No words were said as Neal patched Jack up. Finally, when the conman finished putting the bandage in place, he spoke. "I hope whoever did this lost your business for a while," He attempted, fishing for information and hoping he was right.

Jack hummed and nodded. "They'll be feeling Frostbite for the next few months."

Neal smiled softly as he moved to spread aloe on the light burns across Jack's face. "Frostbite?"

Jack chuckled. "Yeah, kinda lame I know, but that's what happens when you make an enemy of me. A hint to the cops here, free info to their enemies there… they'll be missing a couple of key limbs when I'm done."

"Figuratively I hope."

"Most of the time."

Neal leaned back once the aloe was on. "That doesn't look much worse than a bad sunburn, do you want me to bandage it up or…"

"Nah, this is fine."

"Are you sure your ribs are okay? I mean, those are some pretty nasty bruises."

"I'm sure."

"I'll get you some ice though, that'll-"

"No thanks, they'll be cold enough once I leave."

Neal fought to keep from swallowing again, hearing loud and clear the hidden _I want to stay warm while I can._ However, before he had long to think, Jack spoke up. "Hey, what about your injury? I thought this was supposed to be some sort of quid pro quo thing."

The CI had to consciously keep from smirking. The kid was good at diversion; anyone else would be completely distracted by the accusation. Neal wasn't just anybody, but he figured he could play along for a bit. "Fine." He tugged off his suit jacket and unbuttoned his shirt enough to bare his shoulders to the frosty boy.

"What? That's it!"

Neal smirked at the teen. The scratch in question was barely an inch long, thin, and already scabbed over. He knew he was taking a risk, relying completely on his ability to know people, figure out how they worked. If he was right, Jack would be almost delighted at finding someone who could trick him. If not, he could have lost the teen's trust. However, he hadn't been lying when he said he felt that they were similar, that they thought the same way. It was always nice to face competition. "I never said it was a big scratch."

The pale teen gaped at him for a moment before slouching into a chair with a pout. "No fair." He mumbled, though a slight smirk twitched at the corner of his lips. Neal noticed and knew that he'd guessed right. He flashed the teen a grin back as he tugged his shirt back into place.

"First rule of being a conman, 'Always be the smartest guy in the room."

"Who says I'm not? After all, I barely had to say anything and you went running for the first aid kit."

"Yes, I'm sure that was all part of your master plan. Leg up, on this chair."

"You'll never know if it was," Jack responded mischievously as he obeyed, watching as Neal carefully began wrapping the injury. He dropped his eyes to the floor and reached for his shirt from where it lay on the floor. "Thank you." He mumbled, nearly too low for Neal to catch, but he heard it all the same.

"You're welcome." He responded softly as Jack began to tug on his shirt. However, before the boy could finish the door burst open, revealing a grumpy Peter carrying an overloaded tray. The agent's irritated expression fell away to shock when he saw the scene, Jack's bruises contrasting proudly against his pale skin and the white bandage tied around his arm. The boy's red raw face was slick with aloe and Neal still sat wrapping up his bare ankle. Not to mention the rib outline he could just barely spot, the child's skinny arms and thin frame.

"What happened to you?" He asked, his voice gruff, worry for the teen spiking.

Jack just shrugged and pulled his shirt down to cover his chest and stomach. "Just had a run in with a couple of unsatisfied customers. Don't worry, they won't be shopping with me anymore. Hey, my hot coco anywhere on there?"

Peter nodded slowly and made his way over to the table, setting the tray down and putting the mug in front of Jack as the teen pulled his hoody on over his shirt. The coat remained off but close by, draped against the chair's back. The teen took a deep sip of the coco, sighing in relief and settling back against his seat, feet propped against the table as he reached for a cookie off of the towering plate. "So then, shall we get down to business?" He asked loftily, dipping his desert into the drink.

"Yes, lets." Peter said, relief on his face.

Neal smirked. Peter had a hard enough time figuring him out, with Jack he was absolutely floundering. "So Jack, let's play a game."

"A game?" Peter sputtered. "Neal, we didn't call him here to pl-"

"Oooh, someone's done their research, huh?" Jack interrupted, sounding inordinately pleased. "Well then, I'm sure you know of my favorites, pick your poison."

"Actually, what do you think about playing something new?"

Jack perked up with interest. "A new game? What is it?"

Neal grinned. He had probably caught the boy's attention better than anyone of his other customers had in months. "I call it 'Con'-"

"Of course you would." The still thoroughly confused Peter mumbled.

"- you'll have to try and arrange all of your information into six statements. We play three rounds. Every round you tell us two true pieces of information, and one false one. Then, I guess which one was false. If I guess right, then I win that round. If not, I lose the round and you don't tell me which of the other two was the con and which was the truth."

Jack began slowly nodding. "So you end up with all of the information, but you might not be able to trust any of it." Finally he grinned. "I like it, but what happens if I win?"

"You get your payment."

"You don't know what I was going to ask you for."

"I'm sure we could work something out."

"Hmm… How about this. If I win one round, you guys will come to me first next time you need info about my territory, so that I have another chance to win. If I win two out of three, I get my payment. If I win all three rounds I get my payment, you come to me first, and I get to take whatever's left on this tray with me when I leave." He gestured to the platter laden with desserts, cheeses, fruits, and crackers. "Seriously, did she think there was an army up here?"

"Fine, but if we win all three you have to come to the office to learn court protocol and practice your piece before the judge."

"Promise not to arrest me?"

"Promise."

"I'm not worried about _you _arresting me." He turned from Neal to fix a hard gaze on Peter.

The man, who had until that point been simply staring at the two in befuddlement, nodded. "You will not be arrested for anything we caught you doing before today. Unless you try something in the office, then all bets are off."

Jack chuckled. "Darn. Oh well, guess that doesn't sound too bad. De-"

"Wait." Peter interrupted. "One more condition. If we win two out of the three, we get to ask you five questions that you have to answer honestly, no distraction, misleading, or lying."

"You can ask three questions and it can't be about the round you lost."

"Four. Two from Neal, two from me."

The pale teen thought for a moment and nodded. He stretched out, muscles popping. "So, what was it that you wanted information on?"

Neal and Peter shared a look before the agent spoke. "The 'Guardians'."

The teen frowned. "Well, I'm a little disappointed."

"You don't know anything."

"It's not that. The way they freaked out when I found them, I thought they were the biggest secret in crime since the identity of Jack the Ripper. If it's gotten all the way up the grapevine to the FBI… well they just got a whole less fun."

"You know about them?" Peter asked, shock evidenced in his tone.

"I told you, I know everything. But- I do have one final condition. If this is about the Guardians, I want to be kept out of any official documents the FBI has, anything at all that goes into a computer. Think of a code word for me or something."

"Why?"

"Well, the Guardians, it's not like they're bad people or anything. It's just… I'm not exactly their favorite person ever. I'm somewhere between tolerate and hate. Varies for each one of course. It's just… I don't think they'd hurt me under any normal circumstances, but… when it comes to squealing on them to the FBI, that could get me into some hot water. I'd like to remain anonymous if possible." Both nodded and he smiled broadly. "If that's all taken care of." He chuckled. "This is going to be a lot of fun,

Neal grinned. "Well then, let the game begin."


	6. Gathering Leaves

Sorry it took so long, had to graduate. SUPER BUSY WEEK! But it's over now, I have my diploma, and I managed to get through my salutatorian speech without anything horrible happening. Life is good and I should be able to post more often!

* * *

Neal grinned. "Well then, let the game begin."

"Hang on, hang on. Give me a minute to think of my lie. It has to be good."

"Tsk. Tsk, Jack. I thought you would be better than this. If it takes you this long to come up with a good con…"

"I'm out of practice. Alright, alright. I'm ready. Okay, first bit of information. There are four 'Guardians'. Well, technically five but it gets sketchy. Santa Clause, he's a master at forging artifacts, sculptures, carvings, any kind of handcrafting. But the thing he's best at is thieving. He can get in and out of anywhere, no matter how secure, with nothing to show that he was there other than the missing objects. Like the cookies gone on Christmas morning.

"Then there's the Tooth fairy. She's the only girl and is a master hacker. She can get into any databank and get any kind of information she wants, files, data, memories, all sitting in the palm of her hand. Or, in her computer. One of her specialties is hacking the bank accounts of corrupt businesses or congressmen or thieves and giving the money to people who really need it.

"Next is the Sandman, he's kind of the enabler, or the cleanup. He's a chemist who made his own… concoctions. Two different types of powdered drugs, one a shiny gold and one bright yellow. The yellow is kind of like knock-out powder, but it sinks into the skin, so any type of contact works. The gold is a hallucinogen that gives you the best hallucinations possible. Imagine the best dream you'd ever had, that's what you would see, and just as real as if it were really happening but still bizzare in the way only a dream can be. Put them together and you get the best night's sleep you could ever have. And if a security guard thinks that he saw a guy in a Santa suit break into a high security museum, well a pinch of dust will have him convinced that the whole thing was only a dream, especially if whatever's stolen was replaced with a fake.

"Last but not least there's the Easter Bunny, master art forger but you already know about him."

"How did you-"

"No questioning my methods. Anyway, about the sketchy fifth member. There is some mysterious benefactor that got them all together. He goes by the codename 'Man in the Moon' and no one, not even the Guardians, know who he really is. He contacts them using this one cell phone that not even Tooth has been able to trace. He's a mystery. If the Guardians are a myth, he's a whisper in the wind."

"I've never heard about him." Neal answered.

"Maybe I have better intel than anyone you've heard of. Or maybe this was the lie. Who knows. Second piece of information." He dunked another treat into his coco, working to keep from revealing any tells. This was the lie, he had to tell if perfectly, no hesitation. "They don't actually all live in New York, they all have different houses all over the country. Every once in a while, they'll pick a new major city and set up a mini-base there for a while. When they're done, they split up again until something happens and they start up again. They have different shops and businesses that they have to keep their identities secret. Santa's headquarters are somewhere in Alaska, really far north." Lie, his office was less than an hour away.

"The North pole." Neal murmured and Jack grinned.

"They really do love their themes. Unfortunately, he doesn't run a toy company, he has a bakery and a factory that makes specialty cookies that are sold all over the country." Lie. He did have a toy company, the best in New York, FAO Schwarz.

"Anyway, the Easter Bunny lives in the Virginia- Marylandish area where he can see the cherry blossoms during spring. He owns a floral shop, best flowers of spring." Truthfully he owned a specialty chocolates shop a couple of blocks way. "Sandman lives somewhere in California I think, a beach house near the ocean. He lectures at a bunch of different colleges for chemistry." Sandy wrote children's books and worked at a local library, shaping children's dreams and imaginations. "The Tooth Fairy lives in Arizona, I think she has a humming bird observatory up there. Obviously, she owns a dentist office." Surprising false as well. Really she was a professional portrait and events photographer. Baby Tooth said her favorite thing was to see the children's beautiful smiles.

"What does the Tooth Fairy have to do with humming birds?" Peter asked with a frown.

Jack shrugged easily, his heart beating rapidly. Baby Tooth reminded him a hummingbird, and she and all her sisters absolutely loved them. Unfortunately, there was nothing in the myths to connect the two. "She likes colorful things. Besides, hummingbirds are kinda fairy-like. Besides, not all of their interests have to connect with thief nicknames."

Peter and Neal shared a look before Neal nodded at him. "Point. Third thing."

"They don't work alone. At least, most of them don't. Santa has big men he calls Yeti's who keep his 'workshop' secret and who help him carve the larger things. I think they also help in his side business, like with production and assembly line stuff. And he has a bunch of 'Elves' scrawny geeks who do all of his research to help him break in. If a security system exists, they know about it and any bugs it has. They're really bizarre, no common sense at all, just what can be learned in a book or from a computer screen.

"Then there's Tooth and her Mini-Fairies." Jack was steadfastly avoiding the word baby, just in case. "They're a bunch of girls who can do just about anything you can think of with a computer. Tooth Fairy delegates and helps out if she needs to, but normally she just gives them assignments and they do their own work."

"Do they help with her everyday job too?" Neal asked, testing the boy for inconsistencies.

Jack made a noncommittal hum. "I don't think any of them know how to use dental equipment but I can't be sure. I get most of my intel by overhearing stuff and they don't exactly talk about their everyday lives much."

Peter nodded, his intense gaze never leaving Jack. "Makes sense. Continue."

"Anyway Easter Bunny has these sentinel guys, but they mostly just protect his workrooms. I think they'll get his supplies and stuff too if he's running low. Paint and brushes and canvas and stuff. And Sandy has… well, I guess he doesn't really have anyone now that I think of it. But he's good at convincing people to do stuff, or setting plans in place to make them do what he wants without telling him to. It's like he molds their thoughts and dreams until they do what he wants them to do. So, it's almost like everyone works for him."

He leaned back in his chair and spread out his hands as though laying cards onto a table. "So. What was the lie?"

"Not the first." Neal said certainly.

Peter nodded in agreement. "So either the second or third."

"Wooooow." Jack drawled slowly. "What would the FBI do without you deductive skills?"

Peter cast the teen a glare but otherwise didn't reply. "The problem is, the bit about accomplices makes a lot of sense when you assume that they all have their own businesses all over the country, but-"

"But if they have the locations, then they don't have accomplices. That would make it really hard to run the businesses when they're away on less than legal excursions."

"But there could be workers who aren't necessarily accomplices if they don't know what their bosses are doing while away."

"If that's the lie then there would be a lot of people running around New York without legal jobs."

Neal grinned. "You say that like there aren't already. Also, not necessarily. A big part his second one was that none of them lived in New York permanently. If it's the lie then they could have second jobs here, jobs other than what he said."

"Then the accomplices could work there."

"Exactly. I say the second one is the lie."

Jack grinned. "Is that your final answer?"

Neither hesitated as they simultaneously answered yes. Neal wasn't one to be tricked by a simple happy expression, and Peter too used to Neal to be fooled. Jack just shrugged. "Yup. Looks like I'm going to have to try harder next round."

"Looks like you lost your snack." Caffery said with a grin, happier about beating the child than was really warranted.

"Guess I'll just have to eat more now." Jack responded, reaching out to grab an apple. "So then, next round. I'll make it simpler now, I think I was trying to be too complex. The Guardians have a bunch of different reasons for stealing, let's see if you can figure out which ones are true. First, they steal in order to help children. That's where they got the name 'Guardian' and their aliases. Whatever they steal they use the money from it or from selling it and donate most, if not all, of it to orphanages, children's hospitals, organizations against child trafficking, or any other sort of kid's organization.

"Second, they steal to fight off their eternal foe: Pitch Black. He's a real bad guy, tall, dark, creepy, British accent, tons of aliases, penchant for big crimes but almost completely unheard of, too They call him 'The Boogeyman'."

"Finally, third. They steal just because they're bored, smart, and like shiny things. I mean, its child's play for them to steal millions in minutes, so why not do it? Most of the time they resell the stuff, but they all have certain things that they take just for themselves. Tooth likes old books and carved ivory, Santa likes ancient toys, Bunny Faberge eggs, and Sandy likes gold, especially gold sculptures or designs. There. I think that's better. Try and figure this one out."

"Second one." Peter answered without hesitation.

Neal tossed him an irritated glance. "Peter-"

"I refuse to believe that there is a Disney cartoon villain out there monologing about how he'll rule the world by buying fancy art."

"It would be a pretty farfetched lie."

"Maybe that's exactly why I said it. Who knows. Or maybe it is true, it does sound crazy. Then again, how odd would it be that their interests match their nicknames. Seems convenient for me."

Neal smiled as the teen took the words out of his mouth. "Which of course, makes it seem like a very farfetched lie"

"Which may or may not be true." Jack added with a grin. "Of course, why would people who are this good at what they do simply give all of their stuff away for kids they don't even know? Doesn't seem like the usual criminal profile."

"We already know that the first one was true." Peter interrupted. The teen simply shrugged.

"Figured you did. Just wanted to make sure all bases were covered."

Neal said nothing for a long while, then he sighed. "Fine. I'll go with Peter."

Jack smiled broadly. "Nope! I win that round."

"Then the third was the lie."

Jack said neither yes or no, simply shrugging. He kind of gave that one to them. "This begs the question. I only know a tiny bit more about the Guardians, but I know a lot more about Pitch and he's a much bigger fish with a lot more dangerous teeth. What do you want the last round to be about?"

Neal and Peter shared a meaningful glance before the agent spoke. "Depends. Is part of that 'tiny bit' their civilian names?"

Jack grimaced and shrugged. He knew, but that was part of Baby's Do-Not-Tell category. "They always refer to each other in their code name. All the time. It's creepy really." Not a lie. "What about where their headquarters are?"

Now Jack looked uncomfortable. He bit his lip looking for a lie before sighing and admitting to the embarrassing truth. "Well… the thing is I'm not as invisible as I would like to think. I kept eyes on them for a while but… I got caught. I snuck into Santa's place when they were already on high alert and… well let's just say that his Yetis may not always be observant, but they're strong enough to keep hold of a struggling 14 year old. After a good bit of flustering and yelling I was able to talk my way out of it but… the place was cleared out the next day."

"So you've given us nothing that could help us to arrest these guys."

Jack blinked owlishly for a moment before slowly nodding. "I guess… I guess not. I can show you their old place. Dunno what you'll find though."

Neal nodded. "If that's all you have…"

"Yeah," he responded, refusing to fidget or lower his eyes. "So what'll it be?"

The two watched Jack carefully before Neal answered. "Let's hear about this Pitch character."

Jack grinned. "Great! Okay, so first bit. He is the leader of a really big empire. He calls his men nightmares and they can be almost anyone. They kind of mostly act alone. He funds them but… he doesn't care what they do as long as it's crime. He's messed up like that. They're all over, you might have some of them in your own jails and they just don't think to mention him. Or choose not to. Every once in a while, he'll call them all together with some task or job, but mostly they roam free.

"Second bit. As for him, he does a bunch of stuff. Let's see, white collar-y stuff would be artwork and sculptures and money like things, right?" The two nodded, bemused, and he continued. "Well, he steals and buys a bunch of artwork, but more to give himself a name than because he actually likes art. Well, he likes dark and gruesome stuff, but not normal artwork. All he cares about is money. Actually I heard that he does more than just buy and sell artwork, sometimes he'll sneak into museums and stuff to find the rarest of the rares, so that he can destroy it."

Neal frowned, feeling a mini heart-attack when he thought about priceless artwork being maliciously destroyed. "Why?"

Jack shrugged slightly. "How much would you pay for a Van Gough? A lot right? Probably more than you could get working at the FBI for 20 years." Neal and Peter nodded. "Imagine if you knew that there was only one Van Gough left in the entire world. How much would you pay?"

Neal swallowed, mouth dry as he mentally calculated the figure. "… But, the art…"

"Like I said, he doesn't care. He does it with all kind of stuff, but only when he gets his hands on a lot of other pieces. He buys under a ton of names. Pitch Black, Cucuy Night, Nigel Faris, Dublin Nox-"

"Faris?" Peter interrupted. "That was the buyer set up for _The Railway_."

Jack shrugged. "Probably why the Guardians stole it."

"How did you-"

"Really? We're going through this again? Anyway, those are all the names I know and I'm pretty sure none of them are his real one, so on to the last bit of news."

At this his joking demeanor left, and he became completely serious almost solemn. "He's a bad guy. Really bad. If I had to describe him, I would call him a terrorist. He doesn't really care about art or precious things or even money. He likes power. He feeds off of fear. Especially fear of him. He does whatever he can to make people worry, make them panic. He'll do anything, raise the crime rate, start destroying rare things, anything. He has this drug that he made, Nightmare Sand. It's a copy kinda of Sandy's stuff except instead of good dreams, it only gives you nightmares and fear.

"He's never tried using it in a biochemical attack but… with a hand in the drug business… just a few sprinkles in a couple of choice drugs would be enough to cause complete hysteria. And he would love it. But… but the worst is… when he's at large children tend to go missing. Dozens at a time. For days, months, hours… Sometimes they're never seen again. The ones that are found… they're not the same. Small fears become terrors, they won't sleep at night… children who wouldn't pet dogs suddenly scream and hyperventilate whenever they see one. A kid who avoided clowns will sob whenever someone mentions a circus. Its… scary and horrible."

There was a long period of silence, then Jack finally broke it, voice sounding awkward. "I- I think that's it. So what's the lie?" He asked, a grin gracing his face, looking as false as a Prada purse in a trailer park.

Peter and Neal shared a glance. Both obviously wanted to question the boy, to ask him more about the last bit of information, concern lacing through their beings. However, both knew how useless it would be to press and the look was more a promise to discuss it all later than anything else. "The first." Neal answered. Peter said nothing, at that point he didn't care about the first and second answers, it was the third that worried him, and it was all too obviously true.

Jack nodded. "Yup, you got it." He answered with a tense smile. "Guess you win. What are your questions?"

"You're in a hurry." Neal remarked, forcing an idle expression as he took a deep drink of his coffee.

Jack shrugged. He was getting uncomfortable, he never was indoors for long nor was he usually the center of attention. When he was, he usually felt in control, probably more than was warranted, but between the unfamiliar game and the combined wits of Neal and Peter, he felt his usual control slipping. "I've got places to go, people to see. Plus, I'm ready to get you guys out of my hair now that I lost the game. Usually the prize is just that they don't have to pay." He answered, fidgeting uncomfortably in his chair and eventually giving up to crouch on the seat despite the pain in his ankle. He always felt better when he could stand quickly. The two shifted nervously, worried that the boy would leave. Jack felt a tinge of his usual control return, but it wasn't as satisfying as it usually was.

"Alright, fine." Neal quickly interrupted placating. Jack relaxed minutely, trying to anticipate what the questions would be. Maybe information on gangs or more questions about the guardians or- "How old are you Jack?"

The teen blinked in surprise. "What kind of question is that?"

"It's one that I want to know the answer to." Neal responded. Jack shrugged.

"Fifteen." He answered, curiosity rampant in his voice. Neal whistled lowly.

"Only twelve when you started getting a record. Impressive."

"No, what's impressive is that I was good enough at twelve to get a record, but you guys hadn't even heard of me until last week."

Neal smiled and nodded in agreement, but before he could say anything more Peter interrupted with his question, his voice only professional despite the worry in his eyes. "Where do you live, Jack?"

Jack shifted on his perch. Oh, so that was it. They were concerned for him. How _sweet_. He tried to infuse the right amount of sarcasm into the thought, but it really was kind of nice to have someone worried about him freezing at night. Unusual, but nice. "Here and there." He answered. "Depends on the season. I'm a fan of camping out under the stars in summer, in parks and stuff. When the weathers bad but it's warm out I'll find a warehouse or storage closet to hide out in. During holidays I can usually find an empty house from where people are visiting family. Usually in the winter I've saved enough over the year to get a cheap hotel room or something for a few months."

"Usually?" Neal asked.

Jack shrugged, he couldn't afford to this year, not with his broken leg sapping up so much of his funds. Most of the time he hid between bookshelves at Sandy's library or made a nest in a broom closet somewhere. If he thought there would be a snow day he found a school to hide out in. "Do you really want that as your question?"

Neal said nothing for a moment before shaking his head. "Not now. Maybe next time we play."

Peter snorted, as though he couldn't possibly imagine going along with all this again. Jack bristled at the sound, nearly growling when he turned on the agent. "I won the second round. You have to come to me for information next time you need it, those were the rules. We _will_ play again." His face sunk into a scowl for a millisecond before he suddenly grinned. "Of course, I'll win that round and you'll actually have to pay me so it doesn't matter what questions you come up with."

"Fine, then I have a question." Peter said, irritation hinting his voice. "Why all of the games?"

Jack grinned. "I get bored. Usually I can make enough money for a couple of days in just a few well done lifts. This keeps life entertaining. Also, it's the only time the invisible boy gets seen." He said, smile never wavering. The two men shared a glance. Translation: the kid was lonely and just wanted someone to pay attention and play with him, and he was desperate enough to do this to do it. Just like Valentine had guessed. But, if the kid had won, the game would have already been over. It must have been quite the prize to make him willing to chance losing time with two men giving him their complete attention.

Neal looked the boy dead in the eyes as he asked the final free question of the night. "If you had won, what would you have asked for as payment?"

The boy was silent for a moment before answering slowly. "Information." Peter bristled, looking furious but before he could say a word Jack beat him to it. "Don't get your panties in a twist, I wasn't going to ask about any current cases or what info they have on this mob boss or who the undercover agents were or anything like that. Nothing you couldn't tell me and nothing I intended to sell."

"What were you going to ask about then?" Neal asked. Jack looked down.

"I answered the question. I'm not saying any more about it until I win, or you win more questions." He said, voice tinging on angry. His words faded into a stunned quiet.

The suffocating silence was finally cut as the door burst open, a familiar short bald man with glasses making his way in. "Neal, do you have any eighties movies or pineapples? This guy in Santa Barbra-"

He stopped in his tracks as Jack rose in a flurry of movement to jump off of his chair, tugging the new coat over his shoulders as he made his way to the balcony. Within less than a second he was standing with his back braced against the glass of the window, a snarl on his lips. "We agreed, only you two."

Neal and Peter jumped to their feet, the situation dissolving around them. "I know Jack, I know." Neal said quickly, shooting his intruding friend freeing a glare. However, before he could tell the man to leave, Mozzie grinned.

"Wait, this is still going on? Great! So you're the infamous invisible Jack Frost."

"Apparently not as invisible as I thought." He replied with a scowl.

"Are you kidding?" The strange man asked, eyes blown wide. "Do you have any idea how few know about you? I mean, Neal hadn't even heard a whisper of you until the other day, and I've heard nothing but rumors. You almost don't exist, kid. It's impressive."

Jack's posture relaxed marginally as his paranoia gave way to confusion and interest. "Thanks, I think." He straightened up all the way, regaining his previous ease and comfort. "I answered all of your questions and you got your intel. Things are getting a little crowded in here for my taste and I can't see any more reason for me to hang around."

He maneuvered easily through the glass doors, Mozzie's voice stopping him before he could make it all the way onto the terrace. "Wait! You can't leave yet, I want to hear about the Black Gold Debacle straight from the horse's mouth."

Jack stilled, his lips twitching up as he gave into a laugh. "Of all the stories I could tell, that'd be one of my favorites. Unfortunately, I don't have the time." He inched away, clearly ready to be gone.

"Dinner." Peter said suddenly, the word accented with a slight groan. He didn't know what he'd been thinking- he hadn't been thinking. All he knew was that he couldn't just let the kid disappear again, not after seeing those injuries, the way he attacked the food. Oh well, he'd opened his big mouth, might as well finish what he started. "Dinner, next week at my house. The Tuesday before the trial. Come and tell it to us then."

Jack paused for a moment, watching the three suspiciously before breaking out in a large grin. "I guess Mrs. Burke did say she wanted to hear a good story. Be there at seven." He turned, walking towards the terrace edge. "Just a couple more things before I go," he added as he jumped onto the railing, stumbling slightly because of the injury on his leg. "That third round? Just because what I said was a lie, doesn't mean it always was one, or that it always will be. Remember that. Also, Neal: 8." And with that he turned off the roof and disappeared. None of the men bothered to look for him, knowing well that any effort would be met with only empty air.

"Eight?" Peter asked.

"Shoe size." Neal answered with a hum before turning to the transmitter. "You guys can come up now." He called as he shut the recorder off. They had all the information they needed by now anyway.

"You've got the mini suits here too? Forget it, I'm going to make like Frost and disappear." Mozzie said, ambling towards the door. "Call me when they all leave."

"Pick up some shoes you think he'd like while you're out." Neal called to him. "Remember size eight."

"Yeah yeah."

Mozzie was barely gone when the others returned, Diana looking as though caught between a scowl and a smirk. "You didn't tell us you were planning to play games Cafferey."

Neal shrugged, completely unrepentant. "It's the only way to keep his attention."

Jones nodded. "Well, I think he was more eager to talk with us than we thought. He knows more than he's letting on."

"What do you mean?" Peter asked, though he had a good idea what the man was saying.

"First he's insulted that the Guardians aren't that big a secret, then he knows that we're on to the Easter Bunny. In the middle of talking about the Guardians he starts on this bigger fish we should watch out for."

"Then there was that insanely cryptic ending remark about the lie not always being a lie."

"You think he's feeding us information with an agenda." Neal realized as the two agents nodded. Peter frowned.

"He wouldn't have anything to gain from it though. Not unless he's with them."

Neal shook his head. "If that was true he wouldn't be so dead set against his name coming up in the report. He wouldn't be worried about getting in trouble with them if they were lies either."

There was a long stretch of silence as everyone pondered their thoughts. Finally Peter shook his head and sighed. "Pitch. It's all about this Pitch guy, the end was a warning."

Neal nodded. "Makes sense. If there is one thing from all of that that I think is true, it's that Jack doesn't like him. He's afraid of him."

Peter nodded. "We'll have to keep an eye on Jack, keep all this in mind. And look into those aliases he gave us. I don't think we'll find anything just yet, but keep your eyes out." The group nodded, silently immersed in their own thoughts as they each left. Neal and Peter sharing a glance that promised further conversation once each had time to process their thoughts.


	7. Dust of Snow

Friends for dinner next Tuesday?" El questioned as she settled into the couch beside her husband. "Who?"

"Oh, you know. Just Neal and Mozzie… and Jack Frost."

The woman straightened, looking to her husband in surprise at the unexpected name. "Really?"

"Yeah. I'm kinda surprised he accepted but…"

"Huh." She exclaimed thoughtfully, saying nothing for a moment as she thought. "Honey, when did our list of friends start to only include thieves and other criminals?"

Peter chuckled lowly. "The instant I gave Cafferey that anklet."

The woman chuckled, snuggling against her husband's chest. "Then I'm glad you did."

The man sighed contentedly in reply, the silent _me too_ well understood. The two sat for a moment, watching a mindless television show in a content compatible silence. Finally the woman shifted, looking up at Peter once more. "So, since we're hosting New York's greatest teenage pickpocket, I'm guessing the talk went well."

Peter groaned and rolled his eyes. "I have no idea. You wouldn't believe it, El. Apparently you have to play games to get his information and what you pay depends on whether or not you win. We had to go through this whole charade of a game and the information was sketchy at worst and unhelpful at best. And midway through the thing he began talking about some other guy. By now, I'm more confused than before I talked to him."

Elizabeth giggled lowly. "Sounds like he really is like Neal."

"Too much." Peter agreed. "but that's what worries me." Elizabeth looked to her husband questioningly, but the man simply stared at the beer in his hand as he answered. "I think he'd have to be on his deathbed before he asked for help. He's too thin, and covered in bruises and other injuries. He wouldn't come in until we made Jones and Diana go into the van. They were allowed to listen, but he was afraid of being outnumbered. He's only fifteen, but doesn't have a home. He's barefoot in the middle of winter, and I don't know why! He's obviously talented enough to afford it."

Elizabeth hummed softly. "Poor kid."

"Yeah. I wouldn't tell him that to his face though. I'm not sure he'd appreciate it."

"Probably not. Still, I'm glad you got him to come over. I'll have to make something good."

"And while we eat we'll be treated to a retelling of the Black Gold Debacle."

"What's that?"

"No clue. But Mozzie sure seemed eager to hear it."

* * *

"Mozzie, is this vase thing that interesting?"

"Hey, this kid had Rufus griping about a vase for a month straight. Anything that can make that rat that mad deserves a prize. I want to hear what he did straight from the horses mouth."

Neal smiled thinly. "Can't argue with that."

"So then, spill. What did the kid have to say about the Guardians?"

"Not much. Well, no he told us a lot, but not much that'll be much help in finding them. They don't work alone, they have a benefactor and a bunch of lackeys. They steal to help children and keep stuff out of the hands of some guy named Pitch Black. You hear anything about him? Also goes by The Boogeyman, Pitch Black, Cucuy Night, Nigel Faris, and Dublin Nox."

"Some of those are familiar, nothing significant by themselves, but if they're really all the same person, he could have quite the collection by now. Think this is the seed you were looking for?"

"Could be. Jack was awfully insistent to changing the topic to him. He knows more about the Guardians than he wants to say, I can feel it. And I'm not sure why he's keeping it secret. He could be waiting to sell us more information, he could be paid by them to leak certain things or to tell lies, could be one of the lackeys he told us about, it could just be that he finds Pitch of more of a threat, I don't know. The only thing I do know is that he certainly didn't like Pitch."

Mozzie sighed. "I'll see what people know. I swear Neal, no more names. People are going to start running away when I come nearby."

"They don't already?"

"Very funny, Neal."

The conman grinned winningly, lounging in his chair. "I thought so."

"Yeah, Yeah. So what makes you think Jack is leaving stuff out."

"Just a sense. He slipped up a few times, contradicted himself. He evaded a couple of questions, but mostly… I just know. It's hard to con a conman, after all."

"Need me to be on the lookout for anything else?"

"Just… keep your ears open. If you see him wandering around, keep an eye out."

"Sure thing. I'll keep all my senses open for anything to do with Jack Frost."

* * *

"Remember, keep all your senses open for anything to do with the Guardians." A tall, thin woman commanded, her multi-colored dress flashing as gestured wildly. Her hair lay in a short bob, but was no less colorful than the teenage girl she spoke to.

"Got it." The girl Jack had dubbed Baby Tooth said with a nod, a smile on her lips. It was her turn for FBI duty, constant searching for anything to do with their group among the database. The searches had started the day after they learned about Bunny, and every day each of the "fairies" took time to study any incoming information or paperwork. Of course, only she was looking for any information about Jack as well. The girl leaned back, computer on her lap as she perused the information, skimming quickly as she looked for a hint of new Intel. Suddenly she straightened eyes wide as text appeared on the screen. Someone from the FBI New York White Collar division was inputting a report under maximum security, even more so than usual. A small grin flashed past her face. It was almost like they were trying to hide it. From a master hacker maybe.

It took her only a matter of minutes to bypass the firewalls, easily coming upon the hidden report. A startled laugh left her throat as her eyes widened, and she thanked her lucky molars that she had chosen to do the research in the privacy of the empty library. He did it, Jack had actually done it. It was all there, in the black and white type of a computer screen, everything she told him that he could reveal, and more than even she had thought to mention about Pitch Black. Using his name she quickly did another search through the database and couldn't stifle another grin. They were already looking into some of his more often used aliases. "Jack you are a lifesaver." She breathed, feeling a pang of regret knowing that no one would ever know what he'd done. His name wasn't even listed in the report. Under the heading where the agent would normally say where they got the information, there was only the word CLASSIFIED, with a * on both sides. She smiled softly, they looked kind of like snowflakes.

Without wasting any more time the girl surged to her feet, running to where The Tooth Fairy was meeting with the rest of the guardians in an informal meeting, more to stay connected than anything else. "I got a hit!" She shouted as she entered the room, paying no heed to the conversation she was interrupting, knowing they would find her information more urgent. "And it's _big._ She connected her laptop to the huge monitor against one wall, hearing gasps as the extensive report took the screen. From behind she could hear the mixed cursing in both Ausralian and Russian, and Tooth's favorite expletive of "Oh cavity!"

She finally turned, seeing the surprise float across the faces of the Guardians as they read what she had already digested. Bunny had jumped to his feet, the tall, muscular m02an reading the screen, his fluffy blonde-gray hair puffing out behind him, a couple of telltale strands sticking up like ears, though he usually had those smoothed down. Santa stood next to him, quintessential round belly sticking out with a thick grey-white beard laying over it. North was the oldest of their group, but had the enthusiasm and energy of a young man so it in no way detracted from the team. Sandy stood on the other side of the room, a eggnog forgotten in his hand. The man was fairly short and plump, with blonde hair nearly the same tone as his golden-tanned skin. The Tooth Fairy stood as a bright and colorful slim figure amid them all and Baby Tooth had to hold back a grin as she thought, not for the first time, how strange it was that they all resembled their codenames so well.

The room descended into a tense silence as the group painstakingly read through the document, occasionally muttering to themselves. It wasn't until they got to the part about Pitch that they exploded, sending the room into a momentary chorus of surprised yelling before it settled again as they read on. Finally finished, Santa cursed loudly, Bunny, Tooth, and Sandman all obviously sharing the sentiment. Bunny growled low in his throat.

" 'thought we agreed it was too dangerous to talk to them." He snarled, the information far too precise and advantageous to their cause to come from any outsider.

North nodded with a scowl. "We did. Someone did not listen."

"But who?" Tooth asked, and it was all Baby could do not to shift guiltily.

"I do not know. I will interrogate everyone, try and discover who would have talked."

Baby Tooth's heart nearly stopped. It was impossible to lie to Santa, he seemed to always know when you weren't telling the truth. Everyone called it his Naughty and Nice meter, and it was infallible. The Guardians trusted his word better than the best polygraph or lie detector in the business, and to be fair he was probably much more consistent. Baby Tooth felt a trill of nerves run through her before she steadied her breathing. She could do this, she knew she could. She wouldn't have to lie, just… not tell the whole truth. She could do that. It would be just like playing games with Jack, let the audience think whatever they wanted while they spilled secrets from right under their noses. She could do this.

The guardians were nodding, each looking upset and disgruntled as North continued. "I will start with my men," He said almost regretfully, but he couldn't accuse his friend's teammates without checking among his own. "Could take a while, I will call you all when am done with a group."

The other three nodded, but then Tooth looked to the girl by the computer. "Do you just want to go now, get it over with?"

Nononononono! "Why not?" She said, trying to keep her nerves hidden.

Santa smiled, his rosy red cheeks brightening. "Perfect! Come, sit." He gestured to some chairs. "No use being uncomfortable."

Baby Tooth immediately complied, smoothing out her multi-colored skirt as she sat and hoping desperately that it didn't seem like a nervous twitch. She turned her gaze expectantly to meet Santa's. He was still smiling at her kindly and she wondered to herself if it was part of his method, disarming his victims with a happy smile while secretly watching their every move.

Still looking at her kindly, the man began his interrogation. "Did you leak information about the Guardians?"

"I've never talked about the Guardians to anyone who wasn't already in." She swore, her mind flickering to the person she'd leaked information to in order to get the FBI curious enough to talk to Jack. Luckily, she hadn't really mentioned them by title and it had taken place using snail mail rather than anything that could be used to lead back to her. Writing something out didn't count as speaking, did it?

Santa nodded, as though expecting the response. "So when you spoke with the FBI agent, what exactly did you say?"

"B-but I never spoke with an FBI agent, I've never even met one."

"Right, right. Of course. So what exactly did you say about the Guardians?"

"I haven't talked about the Guardians at all! Except for, like, people who already know."

"Who outside of us have you talked to recently, I want all their names."

"Only the guy working the counter at Starbucks. Everyone else you already know."

The interrogation seemed to go on for hours, the questions an endless task of repetition that would leave liar fumbling, but Baby Tooth stuck to the limited truth, and though there were some questions she undoubtedly could have answered better, in the end Santa nodded.

"She's clean." He turned to the girl with a smile. "You're good to go."

Baby glanced at the Tooth Fairy, getting a nod from her before smiling and grabbing her computer. She forced herself to hang around the base for a little over an hour before sneaking out to find her favorite pick pocket.

* * *

Jack sat at his usual perch on a park bench, watching the children play with the badminton set that was miraculously still standing. Winter's first snow had melted fairly quickly, as it often did, and the ground was clear of white even as the air remained bitterly cold. He sat huddled in his new, warm coat, bare toes barely sticking out from where he crouched in fetal position on the bench. A sudden burst of wind prompted him to rise to his feet, his mind turning to finding a warm place to rest and hoping that he had swiped enough cash to get a motel room. They were due for a bad cold spell, temperatures going into the negatives during the night and he wanted to be inside for that, preferably somewhere with heat.

He was just crossing the threshold of the park when a blur tackled him to the ground with a loud squeal. "Jack you did it!"

"Ugh. One of these days I'm going to teach you how to get someone's attention without running into them." The paler teen said wryly, not that the girl seemed to notice. She was still preoccupied with nearly squeezing the boy to death.

"You did it! You did it! You did it! Ohmigosh, I saw the notices on the database first, so I got to report them to everyone. It was absolutely perfect! Oh man, and then Santa said he was going to interrogate everyone and see who had leaked, but they decided to do me first and I was so scared. But I just remembered our games and I fooled him. It was great!"

"Breathe Baby Tooth." Jack commanded lightly with a chuckle. "So I take it I did alright?"

"You were perfect!" She gushed, still slightly high on adrenaline from the interrogation with Santa.

"Good, good. I wasn't sure. They were… weird. Not like my usual clients. For one thing they were much better at the game." He grinned. Baby Tooth rolled her eyes.

"I know who your regular customers are, trust me I'm not surprised. So do you think you could contact them again if I have more info for you to give?"

"Yeah, I'll be seeing them often enough."

The girl paused, a slightly worried look crossing her face. "What do you mean?" She asked, her mind conjuring ideas of them following Jack, trying to get some evidence on him for some crime all because she had to ask him to talk with them.

Jack winced. He hadn't really been planning to tell her about the dinner invitation. It felt too weird, too unnatural and he could hardly believe that he had really been invited to sit at an FBI agent's table and have supper with them. "Oh, you know. I made them agree to come to me first when they need intel from downtown. Then there's that court case I have to testify at… plus they kind of invited me to dinner."

"What?"

"Agent Burke invited me to his house for dinner so that they could hear about the Black gold thing."

"And you're really going to his house?"

Jack shrugged. "Why not; it's free food. Besides, I've been there before; it's no place I couldn't escape from in a pinch.

Baby Tooth said nothing for a long moment, seeming to seize the boy up. Finally she grinned, the smile almost cleaving apart her face. "Awww, Jackie's made some new friends!" She reached up to ruffle Jack's white hair, having to stand up on her tip toes to reach. The boy just snorted and shook his head out.

"They aren't friends, they're just customers. A story for a dinner."

The colorful girl just smirked. "Uh, huh. I'm sure."

Jack rolled his eyes, mentally cringing away from the word friends. It wasn't as if he didn't want them as friends- he really, really did- he just didn't want to assume friendship where there was none. At least this way it wouldn't sting when they started ignoring him again. He glanced at the smiling girl and knew that she wouldn't understand, and that he would never dare to tell her something like that. He cast out his mind for a new subject.

"So do they suspect me? I can just see Cottontail cursing my name when something goes wrong, no matter what it is."

"No, you're safe. Your- uh, your name didn't come up at all actually." She answered, shifting a little awkwardly.

Jack shrugged. "It's a good thing. I'd rather they not figure it out. In fact, at the moment it'd probably be best for the two of us if they forgot about me completely." He thought for a moment. "Though to be on the safe side it might be smart if I avoided all of them for a while, just so that they don't get any bright ideas."

The girl nodded. "Probably. Sorry Jack."  
"It's okay, I'll just have to pull my pranks on some unsuspecting shop owners instead. I had some that would really ruffle that rabbit's fur too."

Baby Tooth laughed before a small beep sounded, prompting the girl to look to her phone. A grimace crossed her face. "I have to go, Mom doubled up my FBI duty because Santa cleared me."

Jack nodded. "No prob," He replied, waiting until the girl turned and began walking the other way before turning himself. His mind turned to the FBI, more specifically to the price he was planning to one day ask of them. He wanted intel, wanted information that only they would be able to find. He cast his mind back, to his past until it hit a brick wall four years back. He wanted them to help him find out who he really was.

* * *

"I want to find out who this Jack Frost really is." Peter said, making Diana look up from her computer.

"Sir?" She asked.

"Jack Frost. I don't think much will come up from the name, but if you could just… poke around a little, look for missing kids his age, people matching his descriptions, anything you can think of."

The woman nodded, already starting her search. "How long has he been on the streets?"

"At least three years, I'd look anywhere from two to three years before that too."

"Got it. I'll see what I can find and let you know when something comes up."

Peter nodded. "Neal too. He would want to know."

"What would I want to know?" A voice said as a smirk and fedora came into view.

"I'm trying to find Jack Frost, see what he isn't telling us about his past."

"Don't you think that's a little… invasive?"

"There are always background checks done on informants. This one just has to be done differently than most."

"Jack won't be happy about this."

"He doesn't have to know."


End file.
